Somewhere I Belong
by Tiny Q
Summary: It's been just over ten years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Society has moved on but not in the utopic way everyone assumed it would. For Ginny Weasley, however, everything is going great until a season-ending fall derails her Quidditch career and forces her to reevaluate her life. It also forces her to realize that there's more to Draco Malfoy than she ever thought...
1. Chapter 1 - Bad Blood

Title: Somewhere I Belong

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

 **A/N:** No, your eyes are not deceiving you: this is a new Tiny Q fanfic. I know, I don't believe it either, but it's here, it's novel length, and it's mostly done. I blame going back to school; and the fact that editing your own work sucks; and a bout of depression that was so bad that I couldn't read anything for almost two years until I rediscovered D/G fanfiction. But all of that's neither here nor there because now I have a novel length fic to share with you! :D

The rating is for language, suggested violence, and a bit of terrorism. The full version has some smut in it, but as per ffnet's regulations, it will not be included in this version. However, I will also be posting it on the Fire and Ice Archive (where there are hundreds of lovely D/G stories), and you can find the full version there under the same pen name.

And finally, I own nothing related to Harry Potter, and I don't find the plot terribly original. Orton, however, is based on my Charlie, and while I can't claim to own him (he's his own cat, after all), I did put him in the story.

But enough blather from me, please enjoy!

 **Somewhere I Belong**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Bad Blood**

-o-

"I'm fine, really," Ginny Weasley complained over the howling wind as she was loaded onto a stretcher and strapped down for her safety—or rather, the safety of those trying to restrain her. She was soaked through, along with everyone else, and she found that laying still in one place was only making her feel wetter. "I didn't get hit that hard!"

She tried to wave them away with her hand, but one of the men grabbed her arm and held it down by her side, securing a strap over her chest. She winced as he tightened it; the pain patches, which she was very accustomed to after years of accidents, only worked so well. Ginny glared up at him, noting that his name tag labelled him as Jonathan. Well, Jonathan was now on her Strongly Dislike list.

"Miss Weasley," Jonathan began, looking harassed. "You have at least three bones sticking out of your arm, and your side's a mess. You're not fine, and we need to get you to Emergency."

"Do as they say, Weasley," her coach, Gwenog Jones, said, pulling at her greying hair which was a wet mess around her face. "I need you back in flying form as soon as possible." She glanced up at Sally Smith, Ginny's replacement, who was flying a little wobbly against the strong wind and rain. "You're the best Chaser I've got."

"Alright, Coach," Ginny said, sighing in defeat. "Sorry for the hit."

"Don't be silly, Weasley," Jones said, scowling at her. "The whistle had been blown. We—" The crowd cheered and Ginny slouched down against the stretcher. She knew they were going to lose without her, and Jones' face reflected that sentiment.

"Get me out of here then," Ginny told the EMTs dejectedly.

"Oh? Are we allowed to now?" the one near her head asked. This one was Stewart.

"Oi," Ginny said, wincing as they picked up the stretcher, setting it up onto its rolling legs, and pulled their wands. "I just want to do my job."

"So do we," Jonathan replied tersely.

And with that, they Disapparated with her in tow to St Mungo's Emergency Room.

As they popped back into existence Ginny groaned as the lights above her stabbed at her eyes. They were surprisingly bright after the greyed evening she had been playing in.

Without preamble, the EMTs wheeled her out of the Apparation Room and towards the Receiving Area. She blinked her eyes several times, trying to adjust to the brightness, scowling slightly as she realized that Stewart had a very smug look on his face. She opened her mouth to tell him off but slammed it shut as a staff member approached them.

"What have we got here?" an unwelcomely familiar voice asked near her feet. Of course, she had to get bludgeoned when he was on duty. She always did. In fact, this was four for four. She either had really rotten luck, or he didn't have much of a life. "Ah, Weasley, always a pleasure. Forget to keep your eyes open again?"

"It's pouring cats and dogs out there, Malfoy," Ginny snarled. "And the whistle had been blown."

"Excuses, excuses," he replied pleasantly.

She glared at him. If anyone had suspected this was where Draco Malfoy would have ended up they surely had kept that bit of insanity to themselves—especially after he had disappeared off the face of the Earth once he had been acquitted by the Wizengamot. However, not five years ago he had been hired on as a Trauma Healer and had been working in St Mungos' new ER ever since. It surprised everyone, not only with his career choice or how seriously he took it but by how good he was at it. Even Ginny would grudgingly admit it.

And she wasn't the only one who could attest to it, as he had helped more than just her over the past few years. When Harry had gotten caught in a Dark Rising ambush and everyone had been sure that they were going to lose him, Malfoy had spent hours in the OR and saved him. He had also saved Ron. Twice.

To say that Ron was nearly apoplectic about it was an understatement, but, as Malfoy had reassured him, they were even now.

"Hit to the back of her right upper arm with a Bludger," Stewart told him as they all moved through the ER to an empty space. "It knocked her off her broom and she fell about fifty feet before she hit the Fall Barrier, and landed on her right side."  
"Why did you have to go and fall on it as well, Weasley?" Malfoy asked, glancing over at her and smirking. "Trying to make sure I have my work cut out for me?"

"Why else would I?" she snapped, rolling her eyes, then glared at Jonathan, who had opened his mouth, a scowl on his face. He shut it, and Stewart continued his summary of events.

"On her right, her humerus has three compound fractures and there is possible shoulder damage, with a few broken ribs and what looks like internal bleeding." Stewart scowled at her. "But she was being difficult, so we couldn't confirm."

"Sounds about right," Malfoy told the EMT, absently signing the clipboard the other one handed to him. "Don't take it personally. She's the worst patient I've ever had." Stewart snorted, then without a glance her way, the two of them made themselves scarce. Good riddance, she thought. Bedside manner? What bedside manner? A handful of nurses moved in to take their place, and Ginny hoped that they would prove better.

"I thought I told you not to fall off your broom anymore, Weasley," Malfoy drawled, drawing her attention back to him. She looked up and scowled at the amusement that was shining through his otherwise neutral expression.

Not for the first time, she realized that if it wasn't for that damned expression (the one that seemed like he was always amused by her suffering) he might have passed for handsome. The bone structure of his face was finely sculpted and aristocratic, his skin smooth and pale, and his silver-blonde hair, which he always parted to the side, skimmed along the top of his ears and fell into his eyes in a roguish fashion. The expression tainted it all, however, and Ginny supposed it was for the best, considering who he was.

"Right," she hissed, trying to distract herself. "Like I was flying about and thought gee, you know what, getting hit by a Bludger and falling off my broom sounds like a real treat."

"We both know you just wanted an excuse to see me again," he said, smirking at her once more as he waved his wand causing the straps that the EMTs had employed fly off of her.

"As if," she snapped, shifting slightly in her newly found freedom. "A less painful way would have been for me to just tell Luna I'd lost my mind and had her invite us both over for tea at the same time."

"Ah," he said, nodding his head, the smirk becoming slightly lecherous. "But then you wouldn't have an excuse for me to touch you."

"Sod off!" Ginny exclaimed, scowling and struggling to sit up. She didn't have to deal with this right now. She didn't care who he was friends with or what his bloody job was. Luna could scold her all she wanted about how she had upset her friend, but for the moment she didn't care.

Malfoy's large, surprisingly warm hand was on her uninjured shoulder in an instant, pushing her back down with surprising gentleness.

"Now, now, Weasley," he chided her, his grey eyes flicking from her face to her shoulder, not showing any sign of worry; there was only continued amusement, though the smirk was gone. "You know the rules. Play nice."

"Ugh, whatever," she hissed, flopping back on the bed as nurses came in with a few carts.

Everyone was suddenly moving around her, pulling items, reading information off her chart, all while Malfoy began to wave his wand over her, sending runes up into the air. She watched them all wearily, wanting them to hurry up and be done with it so that she could get back to her game. Then one of the nurses came at her jersey with a pair of scissors.

"Don't cut it!" she yelped before the nurse could start. "It's my lucky jersey!"

The nurse looked at Malfoy, who just rolled his eyes, the runes fading away as he redirected his wand at her top.

"You're ridiculous, Weasley," he told her, not for the first time, vanishing the jersey and making it reappear at the foot of her bed. "Are you wearing your lucky brassier as—" His eyes widened as they fell on her side. "Contact the OR," he snapped at one of the nurses. "Now!"

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked, feeling alarmed for the first time. Malfoy had never lost his cool like this before.

"You're a mess, Weasley, that's what's wrong," Malfoy said, looking down on her side as the nurses scurried around them. He called something else to them, his warm hands gently pressing into her side. The pain patch was either wearing off or that really hurt. His eyes locked with hers, concern etched deep within them and it sent a shiver down her spine. "But don't worry, I'll get you sorted."

"You always do," she replied as confidently as she could, feeling panic try to grip her heart. A nurse waved her wand over her head and she felt herself slip from consciousness, Malfoy's eyes the last thing that she saw.

-o-

When Ginny next opened her eyes she was forced to slam them shut again groaning, the light in the room bright against her eyes. A moment later she realized that her body was aching something awful, and she gritted her teeth. Merlin, it even hurt to breathe.

"Ah, welcome back to the world of the living, Weasley," a voice drawled.

The lights dimmed and she finally managed to open her eyes and look around. She was in a hospital suite, propped up on a bed in the centre of the small room. Malfoy was by the door, looking as though he had been about to leave, but he turned towards her and closed the door behind himself.

"Aren't you supposed to make the pain go away?" she grumbled at him as he approached the bed, wand out.

"It was much worse," he said, his expression completely neutral. It startled her how different it was from the concerned eyes she had seen before she had slipped into unconsciousness. Had she even actually seen that? "We almost lost you."

"What?" she demanded sharply, then winced as pain ripped through her side. Her ribs felt like they had been smashed in. "It was just a Bludger hit," she said more calmly.

"And an awkward landing after a fifty-foot fall, which the Fall Barrier can only do so much about," he reminded her, narrowing his eyes. "Or did you forget the fall?"

"No," she replied, slumping back into the bed. "I didn't forget the fall."

"You should work on that," he told her, waving his wand over her methodically, looking at the runes that were appearing in the air. "Quidditch works best if you stay on your broom."

"Har, har," she replied, shifting slightly and wincing. "What did you do to me?"

"You had serious internal injuries," he said, then muttered a Lumos Charm and pointed the light quickly at her right eye, then again at the left. She blinked rapidly, seeing spots. "We had to be a bit more invasive than usual."

"Fantastic," she said, attempting to brush his hands aside, only to realize that her right arm wouldn't move. She looked down at it dumbly; it was strapped securely to her side. Well, that wasn't a good sign.  
"What did you do to my arm?" she asked, hating the note of panic that she heard. If Malfoy heard it as well, he didn't comment.

"We had to put a metal plate in it," he told her, pulling back and looking impassively down on her. "You've broken it too many times, and I was worried that it was becoming compromised. It's going to take a little while to heal properly."

"You put a piece of metal in me?" she demanded, looking up at him in horror.

"It's not that big of a deal," he told her, shrugging. "Muggles do it all the time."

Ginny stared at him as though he had grown a second head. Not only had he put a piece of metal into her, but he was talking about Muggles as though he hadn't previously wanted to eradicate the lot of them. And for him to actually use one of their ideas? It was unheard of!

"You're one of the first to get one," he continued, though she hardly paid him any attention. "You're quite fortunate, really."

"Fine," she said, gritting her teeth. "Whatever. How long until I'm fit to play?"

"You're out for the rest of the season."

"What?" Ginny demanded, her ribs once again protesting loudly, but this time she tried to ignore them. "You can't do that to me! They won't win the Cup without me!"

"Be that as it may, you're not getting on a broom anytime soon," he told her, his expression still the usual neutral mask.

"You said it was going to take a bit of time to heal! Why the hell did you put that thing into me?"

"It's not because of the plate," Malfoy replied, frowning at her now. "It's because of everything you banged up inside of your chest. There's only so much magic can do when you try to squish all of your internal organs in one go."

Ginny stared at him, feeling the anger drop out of her.

"But it was just a Bludger hit," she said more to herself than him. It was barely into the season, what was she supposed to do with herself if she couldn't play? She knew it was in her contract to help coach if she was injured, but how long until she would be fit to even do that?

"It's not that bad, Weasley," Malfoy told her softly, startling her out of her revere. "They're not going to boot you off the team or anything. You're the best Chaser they've got."

Ginny blinked at him. Had he just complimented her? A Malfoy complimenting a Weasley? Was the world ending and she just hadn't been made aware of it yet? She had been unconscious for who knew how long…

"That's not what I'm worried about," she told him honestly, surprising herself. He raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't know what to do with myself when I'm not playing Quidditch."

Malfoy stared at her for a moment then snorted.

"You're not going to be doing much more than resting," he told her, carefully checking the dressings taped to her side. Once again Ginny noticed, despite herself, how warm and deft his hands were. "You need to give your body a chance to heal, even with magic helping. I suppose you could always catch up on your reading or telly."

She looked at him nonplused, then shook her head.

"Forced vacation then."

"Forced vacation," he agreed with a nod.

"You're such a dictator," she grumbled.

"You and I both know that the wellbeing of my patients is my primary concern," he told her, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"But the torment you wreak upon them is just an added bonus?"

"Something like that." He began waving his wand over her once more, glancing at the runes that showed up over her.

"Am I still going to be able to go on my actual vacation with Luna?" she asked him, the thought suddenly occurring to her. It wasn't that big of a deal, really. Just a handful of days on the beach with her best friend between games. Luna had been in Italy for the past couple days looking for who-knew-what, and was set to return with her when it was over. But still, she had been looking forward to it, a little reprieve before winter began to set in. "Obviously, I won't be doing anything other than lying about on the beach or sitting in cafes. Or knowing my luck, just lying about in an overpriced hotel room."

Malfoy stared down at her, his expression unreadable.

"In two weeks you should be all right to travel," he told her finally, pulling his hands back and taking off the rubber gloves he had on.

Ginny blinked. He knew when she was supposed to be joining Luna? How much did Luna tell him about her?

"As long as you sit under an umbrella the entire time," he continued, shaking his head. "Too much sun won't help those freckles of yours."

Ginny scowled at him, absently raising her left hand to rub her nose, where the freckles seemed to congregate before they spread out across her face.

"You like them," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You're just too afraid to admit it."

"Keep dreaming, Weasley," he said, smirking at her, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly. She stared at them in surprise as he took a step back. "Everything seems to be as it should. If you're up for it, your family and teammates are in the lobby and nearly rabid to see you."

"Yah, send in the horde," she told him, smiling slightly.

He nodded his head before turning and walking towards the door.

"Hey, Malfoy." He paused and turned to look at her. "Thanks."

"My pleasure, Weasley," he replied, dipping his head slightly, then slipped out of the room, closing the door behind himself.

Ginny stared at it, the skin around his eyes in the forefront of her mind. It had almost looked like he was _smiling_. _Could_ he actually smile?

There was a knock at the door, and a moment later the small militia that she called her family, friends, and teammates flowed in. She sighed, Malfoy slipping from her mind, and smiled at all of them, preparing to tell them the bad news.

-o-

A week after her release from the hospital the sound of the fireplace roaring to life startled Ginny awake. She turned her head, absently wiping at her mouth, to find Hermione smiling at her as she climbed out of the grate.

"Hi Ginny," she said. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Not hard to do," Ginny said amiably.

Orton meowed and leapt off her legs, landing on the ground with a grunt before hurrying over with his lopsided gait to the new petting person. Orton adored Crookshanks, (who, in his senior years, didn't want anything to do with poor Orton) and by extension loved everyone who was covered in his hair.

"All these potions make me sleep every couple of hours," Ginny continued, stifling a yawn as she watched Hermione kneel down to pet the grey cat.

Ginny hadn't seen her since just before her release from the hospital, which wasn't terribly unusual for them. Hermione was always incredibly busy, working to improve things with the Ministry and their laws, the Aurors, Magical Creatures' rights, and who knew what other projects that wandered into her lap. Not to mention raising her two young children, Hugo and Rose. Ginny had no idea how she did it: she had trouble minding herself and her cat, let alone a household and half the Wizarding world.

"Good thing you have nothing better to do," Hermione said, smiling. "Are you ready to go?"

"Just let me grab my purse," she said, glancing around for her wand before she remembered there was no point in taking it. So instead she walked over to the front hall and pulled open her closet door. She glanced at her neatly arranged shoe collection and sighed knowing it would be months before she could wear heels again. She pulled out a pair of well-worn flats and slipped them on.

"Sorry it's taken me so long to come see you," Hermione said. Orton let out an excited meow and made his way over to the front door, sitting beside it in anticipation of his moment of escape.

"Don't worry about it," Ginny said, shaking her head at her cat. "People have been doing nothing but stopping by all week. Between them and the owls from my fans I actually haven't had much time to myself since I got home."

"So I did you a favour then?"

"Yah," Ginny said, grinning. "That's what we'll call it. What have you been up to?"

"Oh, things have been nuts at work with everything Dark Rising has been up to. Their attempts at extortion are getting bolder."

"Have you had any luck catching them?"

"None," Hermione sighed, as they made their way out of her flat. Hermione used her foot to expertly keep Orton from slipping out the door, much to Orton's dismay. "It has Ron and Harry in a right snit too. They're always one step ahead of us."

"I just don't understand why people are still trying to fight this fight," Ginny sighed as they made their way out of her building, using the elevator. "Wasn't the drama with Tom enough?"

"I can't say that I blame them," Hermione said with a shrug, and Ginny looked at her in surprise. "I'm not saying that I agree with their methods"—she said quickly—"but I can understand them. Despite what your father and Kingsley have done in office, the Ministry, and society in general, still insist on treating former Death Eaters and their supporters differently from everyone else. They've gone from being the top of society to the bottom with no chance of appeal."

"Malfoy seems to be doing fine," Ginny said as she turned the door latch on the front door and pushed it open with her hip.

"I think he's the exception because of what his mother did for Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head. "And because of what Harry himself said for him at his trial." Hermione paused. "I also have a feeling Harry had something to do with him becoming a Healer."

"I'm sure he loved that," Ginny said dryly, glancing around at the fall colours around them. She felt a pang of sadness go through her as she realized that she wouldn't be able to go flying on such a beautiful day, but shoved it aside. She couldn't let herself go there.

"Probably not," Hermione said with a laugh. "But enough about work and former Death Eaters. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing okay," Ginny said honestly. "Even though I'm not allowed to do anything other than lie on the couch, or go for a short walk. But it's not as bad as I thought it would be. Pagsy has been a huge help in the mornings, which makes things easier too." The little home-care elf popped by every morning to help her get cleaned, dressed, and ready for the day. She thought she would hate the attention, but it was a relief to not have to battle tasks that normally would have taken her seconds if her arm had been working properly.

"Good," Hermione said with a nod, coming to a stop in front of the little cafe Ginny often went to. She pulled the door open and motioned for Ginny to go through. "I was a little worried. You made such a fuss before you left the hospital."

"I know," Ginny said, dipping her head slightly, as she made her way over to a free booth by the window. "I really don't want this to be my reality, but there's nothing that I can do about it. So it's time to suck it up"—Ginny grinned widely—"and it hasn't hurt that everyone who comes by has been bringing me food."

"I still can't believe that you can only cook with a wand. I don't know how you could grow up with a mum like yours and never learn to cook."

"It never interested me," Ginny replied, shrugging. Really, it hadn't. Now that she was older it would be nice to know, but she really didn't have the time to learn. Maybe now that she had to slow down she could. "Which reminds me, that magic box you had Ron bring over is amazing."

"The microwave?" Hermione asked, glancing up from her menu. "I thought you might like that."

"It's fantastic. I think I'm going to keep it. Though if people aren't bringing me food to heat up I don't know what I'll put in it…"

"You could just learn to cook, and put your leftovers in it."

"Or that." Ginny yawned, just barely managing to cover it with her hand.

"Are you tired already?"

"I told you, my energy is all over the place." Ginny grinned at her. "Maybe I'll just take a quick nap here."

"I'm sure the reporters will love that," Hermione said dryly.

"Not really concerned with what they think," Ginny replied with a shrug, glancing over the menu. "Not since all that tosh they said about me after I divorced Harry and shattered his heart."

"It was a mutual parting, as I remember it."

"They didn't think so," Ginny said darkly, rubbing absently at her arm. The sling was charmed to hold her arm in place, no matter what she did, and sometimes she found herself touching it just to remind herself it was still there.

The waitress came, and they both ordered a treat, and a pot of tea. There was no to-do about their order, which was a nice change from the Wizard side, where Hermione and Ginny together usually caused at least a bit of a stir. But this was the Muggle side, so they were both delightfully anonymous. It was one of the reasons Ginny loved her flat: no nosey wizards or witches around to bother her.

"How's your arm?" Hermione asked, watching her.

"Painful," Ginny said honestly. "Though it's more my shoulder and ribs that hurt. Where my arm was actually broken doesn't feel that bad in comparison."

"So the plate was a success? I'm sure Julian will be happy to hear that." Julian Gates was the wizard who had invented her plate.

"I forgot that you work with him sometimes," Ginny said, picturing the nerdy and rather awkward man in her mind. She had met him once by accident, when she had gone to meet Hermione at the library, and the two of them had been finishing up a meeting. All she could really remember of him was that he was tall and had the most ridiculous looking glasses she had ever seen. They had been huge and thick rimmed so that half his face was hidden behind them. Why anyone would want to look like that, was beyond her.

"I can't seem to help it," Hermione told her with a small smile. "He has some very interesting ideas. No one else has done more than talk about blending Muggle technology with magic, but he's doing it." They both leant back as the waitress brought them their tea and desserts. They both said their thanks and tucked in, turning back to their conversation.

"And it's a much more involved process than I had first thought," Hermione continued. "The metal in your plate took forever to refine because he kept running into problems with the elements interfering with the patient's magic."

"And you helped him figure it out?"

"Oh no," Hermione said, shaking her head. "That was all him. I usually only have time to consult. I hardly ever see him beyond our brief meetings in the library."

Ginny smiled. Hermione, amongst her many projects, had raised money to turn the decaying public library into an establishment that rivalled Hogwarts' collection. She had gotten book donations from all over Europe, and now the whole place was growing as more and more people began to use it. Ginny knew it was mostly because Hermione had missed being able to hide in a proper library, but she was proud of her friend's involvement nonetheless.

A blue light lit up their booth, and they both turned to see Ron's Patronus popping its head up discreetly between Hermione and the wall.

"Hermione," Ron's voice whispered urgently. "We need you in Headquarters as soon as possible."

"Okay," Hermione whispered back, and the terrier nodded before slipping back under the table, the light fading away. "I'm sorry, Ginny," she said, turning back to her. She pulled some money out and placed it on the table, looking contrite. "I'm actually surprised I managed this much time before something happened."

"It's alright," Ginny said. "I'll just eat my desert and go home and take a nap."

"I'm really glad you're doing okay," Hermione told her, giving her a quick and careful hug. "We're all really worried about you."

"I'm fine," Ginny assured her. "Now go, the world needs you."

Hermione smiled at her, looking a little harassed, then hurried out of the cafe.

Ginny sighed, leaning back into the seat, exhaustion washing over her. She looked down at the remains of her desert and gave it up as a bad job.

Without much fuss, she left the cafe and headed home, her delightfully squishy couch in mind. She was oblivious to what was around her, and it wasn't until she was nearly at the front steps that she realized that she should have been paying attention.

Getting jarred back into reality, she came to an abrupt stop as she saw someone sitting there who had no business being there at all. A blond someone, who was idly reading a book.

Her eyes went wide, flicking over his casual posture, his Muggle clothing, and the paperback he was reading. He looked so different from how he did in the hospital, or at Luna's gallery openings, or as Luna's date at Ministry events, that it took a moment for her brain to actually process who she was seeing. When she had she was about to turn around and take the back entrance, when he looked up from his book and fixed his eyes on her.

"Ah, Weasley," he drawled. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Not really," she replied flatly, staring at him. Though Luna had befriended Malfoy almost six years ago now he had never approached Ginny before, or shown any indication that he wanted to-which she greatly appreciated. Why the sudden change? "What are you doing here, Malfoy? And better yet, how do you know where here is?"

"I looked up your address in the hospital files," he told her indifferently, dropping his book down onto the step.

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Only if you get caught," he replied, looking up and grinning slightly at her.

Ginny stared at his mouth, wondering what the hell was going on. It was like an unwritten rule that Weasleys and Malfoys did not grin at each other. Come to think of it, it was probably written down somewhere, and now that she saw him grinning, she understood why: it was just wrong.

"Are you doing house-calls now?"

"Not exactly," he said, getting to his feet.

She resisted the urge to take a step back. He was much taller than she had ever realized before. Mainly, she thought, because she hadn't stood this close to him since they had left school. Now, as he loomed over her, he made her realize exactly how much she took after her mother, and it wasn't a very comfortable experience.

"I know I've never really given you reason to believe this, Weasley, but I really do like you."

"What?"

"I know you probably won't believe me, but it's true," he told her, looking down at her intently.

She stared up at him, her mind whirling around, trying to make some sense of all this. Not only was Malfoy on her front step waiting for her, but he _liked_ her?

"So all those times in the hospital when you were a complete arse to me was just a show…?" she asked, yet even as she said the words she realized they weren't true. Not really, at least. He was always snarky, but never an arse. At least, not like he had been before.

"Well, I couldn't very well flirt with you when you were my patient, could I?"

"I haven't been your patient since you walked out of my recovery room," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You obviously weren't biting at the bit to show up before now. Had to wait until a couple days before my trip?"

"Your—well, I've been a bit busy with work," he told her. "But you've been on my mind the whole time."

She just stared at him. Finally, he sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

"You almost died on my table. It put some things into perspective."

"What things?" she asked, feeling numb as she stood there. She was very aware of her left hand just hanging by her side, oddly heavy and unwilling to move.

"I used to have a thing for you back in school," he replied with a casual shrug, as though this fact was no big deal. "Then when I saw you again after I got back to England it reminded me of how truly stunning you are. I thought there would be plenty of time, but you scared me, Weasley." He paused, glancing down at his feet. Ginny felt her eyes widen. "So here I am."

Ginny felt her mouth go dry. He was serious, wasn't he? How was this even possible? She glanced around, wondering if someone, possibly George, was going to jump out of the hedgerows and cry "gotcha!" But no one did. It was just her and Malfoy on the sidewalk. Her and a Malfoy who had apparently lost his bloody mind.

"This… this is all very interesting," she finally said carefully. "But I don't understand why you're telling me. Why are you here, Malfoy?"

"I was wondering if you would like to go to dinner with me," he told her, startling her with the honesty in his eyes.

"Who put you up to this?" she heard herself ask. She glanced around, desperately wishing that someone would just show up and start laughing. She didn't want to live in a world where the Great Bouncing Ferret had a thing for her, let alone felt that he could show up on her front steps and act on it. It just wasn't right. Not right at all. Wasn't his befriending her best friend enough lunacy for one lifetime?

"No one." He hesitated. "Go on a date with me. Give me one chance to prove my sincerity to you."

"No!" she said automatically, taking a step back.

"Please," he said. "Just one."

Ginny stopped. Had Draco _fucking_ Malfoy just said _please_? To a _Weasley_? While asking her out? What the hell had happened to the world? What alternate reality had she fallen into?

None of this was making sense to her. He had never even spoken to her outside of the hospital before, and now he apparently liked her and wanted to go to dinner of all things? She had a hard enough time accepting that Harry had vouched for him after the war, and she still had problems accepting how fondly Luna thought of him, but this was something else entirely. And yet… she trusted both Harry and Luna with her life, and if they had accepted him…

Bloody hell. Was she actually considering this? She must have hit her head harder than anyone realized.

"I'll think about it," she told him, startling herself. His eyes lit up and she raised her good hand. "But don't get your hopes up. You're not exactly my type."

"I come to your rescue all the time," he told her, smirking slightly at her. "I thought you had a thing for heroes."

Ginny stared at him, trying to hide her surprise. He had never referred to himself as her hero before. But she supposed that in his way he was—if a Malfoy could actually be heroic.

"Keep talking like that and the next time you see me will be whenever I happen to get bashed in by a Bludger," she told him. "Which, thanks to you, won't be until next season."

Malfoy raised both his eyebrows, watching her as she walked past him. She waved her pass-card at the door sensor when she reached it. The lock clicked and she pushed the door open, pausing to look back at him. He was watching her, pink high on his cheeks.

"Good day, Malfoy," she said, then walked into the building, letting the heavy door swing shut and lock soundly behind her.

-o-

Ginny glanced up at the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' sign, as she pushed the door open. The bell jingled and the usual smell of smoke and potions ingredients greeting her nose. The shop always smelt like the twins' bedroom from when they were all younger, and upon entering she always felt like she was being enveloped in a warm and comforting hug.

"Little sister!" George said happily as he approached, wrapping her up in a gentle hug. It wasn't the usual bearhug he gave her, but it was still a George hug, which was one of the best types around. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just picking up some last minute things, and thought I'd pop in," Ginny said with a lopsided shrug, looking up at him. He seemed good today. His eyes brighter than usual and his posture seemed more secure. The tracks under his eyes were still there, but they never seemed to go away, nor did the sadness.

After the war, George had returned to Diagon Alley to find the shop in absolute shambles. They had all been terrified that he was just going to give up and walk away, even mum. But George had simply rolled up his sleeves and gotten to work putting order to chaos. All of them had helped when they could, especially Percy, and within three months George held his grand reopening. Everyone in the family had been relieved, but Ginny had seen how his smile had not quite reached his eyes—and to this day it had never really come back. She had a feeling that the routine of life was all that was keeping George living sometimes, and she had no idea what to do about it.

"You're still going to get Orton tonight, right?" she asked, brushing her thoughts aside. If she thought too much about any of it she was liable to cry and not be able to stop; and she had spent too many years crying to allow that.

"That depends, are you still going on your trip?"

"Of course, I'm not letting a few broken bones and a near death experience get in the way of a holiday!" she declared, shaking her head. One of the customers laughed, and Ginny shot them a grin.

"Sometimes I forget how stubborn you are," George said, returning her grin.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Never," George said, shaking his head. "But yes, I will pick him up tonight."

"Perfect," Ginny said, grinning. "I know you two will have a blast. I put some earplugs on the table with his stuff."

"So thoughtful of you," George replied, shaking his head. "Though I was just planning on using the usual Muting Charm on him."

"Then how will you know he's hungry?"

"Is that why he always makes such a racket?" her brother asked her incredulously. "Because if that's the case he's never full."

"Pretty much, yah."

"I don't know how you put up with him," George said, shaking his head.

"We get on just fine," Ginny said fondly. "Besides, it's not his fault. You, on the other hand, are the one who gave him to me. If anything I should be mad at you."

"You could never be mad at me for anything," George told her. "Unless I do something really bad."

"Like give me a cat that howls twenty-four-seven?"

"Nah, something much worse: like use your shoe collection for an experiment or something."

"You wouldn't."

"You never know with me."

Ginny laughed shortly, then grabbed her side in pain.

"Sorry," he said with a grimace. "I forgot, don't make the little sister laugh."

Ginny bit back another laugh, then glanced at her watch, taken aback by the time. She had thought she had more of it. "I have to get going." She stepped forward and gave him a one-armed hug. "Thanks again, George."

"My pleasure, Gin. Have a good trip," he said, releasing her. "And say hi to Lovegood for me. See if she's found anything interesting that I can work with. That Tongo flower she found for me last time was just what I needed for my new line of Snack Boxes."

"Perhaps I will," Ginny said, as she headed out the door. "You might just have earned it after putting up with my little howler for the weekend."

"I should be getting lots of things then because I'm always the one watching him."

"That's because you're the one who found him in the first place," she reminded him, winking as she pushed the door open. "I wouldn't subject anyone else to him unless they piss me off."

"You're such a kind-hearted individual, sis," George said, catching the door.

"I know," she said cheerfully. "See you later, big brother."

"Bye, little sister."

With a final wave she left the shop, a smile still on her face. Spending time with George always made her feel better about anything, regardless of his mood. The same had been true of Fred as well… She stopped the thought as it started, and headed to the Leaky Cauldron to get back out into Muggle London.

Hoping to get a bit of energy, she stopped at a cafe and got a latte. She had a feeling she wouldn't be going to bed anytime soon, as her and Luna had a lot to catch up on, namely about Malfoy.

She had wanted nothing more than to talk to her about all of it, not only because Luna was one of her best friends, but because of all the people she knew, Luna knew Malfoy best. If anyone could make sense of this insanity it was Luna—however ironic that idea might be. She just wasn't sure if she would be able to explain why Ginny was growing more and more inclined to say yes.

She resisted the urge to sigh, and glanced around the park she was walking through. A head of silver-blond hair caught her eye, and her heart slammed against her chest in surprise. What were the chances?

Without thinking she moved towards him, all her plans and resolutions flying out of her head as she took air into her lungs to speak.

"Malfoy," she called as she walked over to him. He was sitting on a bench, once again dressed in Muggle clothing, facing the pond. There were some ducks lazily floating around amongst the reeds, paying them no attention at all.

The blond looked up from the book he was reading, raising a hand to block the light from his eyes. She noticed that it was a different novel, and he was already quite far into it. How fast could he read?

"Weasley?" he asked, frowning at her. "Aren't you supposed to be leaving for your trip?"

"My Portkey leaves in an hour," she told him distractedly, waving off his comment. "But I've given it some thought," she told him before she could stop herself, her breath in short supply and her heart still pounding distractingly in her chest. "And I agree."

"Agree to what?" he asked, frowning more.

"To what you asked me," she said, frowning slightly back at him.

"I don't recall asking you anything," he said slowly, putting a bookmark in his place and setting the book carefully down beside him. "Are you feeling all right? You haven't hit your head or anything, have you?"

"I'm fine," she said, scowling at him. "You asked me out, and I'm agreeing."

Malfoy stared at her, surprise, then confusion and concern, flickering across his face before his neutral mask fell into place.

"I know you're a catch, Weasley, but I have never asked you out."

"Come off it," she said, feeling her cheeks heat up. "You were on my step and you said all that stuff about…" Ginny's word died in her throat at his expression, which was becoming steadily more incredulous. "You don't remember, do you?"

"No," he replied slowly. His eyes were flicking across her, as sharp as they always were in the hospital when he was assessing the damage she had done to herself. "Because there is nothing to remember. That never happened."

Ginny's heart changed tempo as it continued to beat against her chest. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. Possibilities swirled through her mind. From the depressing: that she was losing her mind, or perhaps Malfoy was (it would explain the request for a date in the first place); to terrifying: that the man she had spoken with hadn't been Malfoy after all.

"Weasley?" Malfoy asked, getting to his feet. Once again he loomed over her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied, shaking her head and taking a step back.

"Then why do you look as though you've seen a Dementor?" he asked, taking a step towards her, his hand reaching up as he did so.

"I just got confused," she said, taking another step back so she was out of his reach. "Sorry."

With that she turned around and hurried away as quickly as she could, her lungs beginning to burn with the effort and her side aching horribly. He called after her, concern in his voice, but she ignored him and refused to look back. Who had she actually spoken to?

Soon she was back out on the street, putting the park, and him, behind her. All she could think about was getting home and Flooing Harry. Ginny wanted nothing more than to leave all of it behind for him to deal with as she left for her trip. Let him sort this out. She had had far too much excitement during her time in Hogwarts to deal with any of this now. She just wanted to play Quidditch and for the world to leave her to it. Malfoy doppelgängers were not in her realm of interest at all.

Finally, she made it to her block, and she let out a breath of relief. She rounded the corner and stopped short.

Malfoy was sitting on the front step again, the same book he had had last time in his hands, dressed in completely different clothes from moments before. He looked up and smiled at her. It was a real and genuine smile that transformed his face but didn't quite reach his eyes.

Ginny's latte slipped from her fingers. That really wasn't Draco Malfoy.

The not-Malfoy got to his feet, and Ginny stumbled back, taking several hasty steps in her attempt to get away from him. Her mind spun and she cursed the Bludger, her bunk arm, and her instinct to have run away from the real Malfoy in the first place. She really just wanted her wand in her hand so she could blast this one away from her.

There was a loud sound to her right, and, much later, Ginny would remember seeing the flash of headlights before something slammed into her right side. She would vaguely remember flying through the air, weightless and serene for far too short a period, before the intense pain as she landed hard. She knew the pain must have been what made her pass-out, and frankly, she was glad for it.

-o-

 **A/N:** So, what did you think? In the infamous words of Ed the Sock (Is he even around anymore? Am I completely dating myself?! Nope, just checked, he's still around being awesome…) is it Smash or Trash? Your reviews, opinions, critiques, flames, whatevers, are all very much appreciated. :D


	2. Chapter 2 - You Are Mine

Title: Somewhere I Belong

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

 **A/N:** Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I thought you could just reply to them directly, but that doesn't seem to be working, so just thank you. Everything you say is read carefully and is muchly appreciated!

Also, I think I am firmly in the camp that the Cursed Child is not actually canon, so you won't find anything from it in this story.

Disclaimer: I claim nothing to be my own, other than this ever so slightly original plot.

 **Somewhere I Belong**

 **Chapter 2**

 **You Are Mine**

-o-

 _Minister's Daughter Missing!_

Draco looked blankly down at the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ , his piece of buttered toast forgotten in his hand.

Front and centre there was an image filled with people huddled around a conference table in various states of disbelief and upset. He could see the Minister and his wife in the middle, the latter seeming to be inconsolable. The lot of them kept glancing at him every now and then before going back to their grief.

Draco watched them for a moment, feeling vaguely voyeuristic, before turning his eyes to the picture on the left, where Weasley herself, her red hair blowing in the wind, smiled coyly at him. It was an image he knew very well for it was one they often used as her promo shot for her Quidditch career. Once again he was struck by her beauty, and by how completely out of his league she was.

Yet, a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him, as it had been on a near hourly basis, she had thought that he had asked her out, and she had agreed to it.

Draco shook his head rather violently, trying to banish the thought; now was definitely not the time. It was no use though; it never was. The youngest Weasley had always had an unfortunate habit of occupying an alarming amount of space in his mind—or at least she had ever since she had cast that hex on him in his fifth year.

Trying not to think about it, Draco turned to the sixth page where more images of the Weasley clan were scattered across the whole spread. Between the images were several blocks of text:

 _It has been officially confirmed that Ginevra Weasley, 27, only daughter of the current Minister for Magic elect, ex-wife of Harry Potter, former DA member, and Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, has gone missing. This is only weeks after her tragic fall and season-ending injury on the 16th of September—which also made her the recipient of one of Healer Julian Gates' newly approved Muggle medical adaptions._

 _She was last seen by her family yesterday, shortly before she was due to leave on a trip to Italy meet Luna Lovegood—also a former DA member, and now artist with work in both Muggle and Wizarding society._

Draco stared at Luna's name, his stomach clenching uncomfortably. Her worried face flashed through his mind, and he forced himself to finish the article before he got up to send her an owl.

 _Miss Weasley's Portkey arrived without her. When Miss Lovegood Flooed her and found her flat—a modified suite in an undisclosed Muggle building—empty, she contacted the Weasley family right away. A search of her home showed her bags packed, along with her wand, but no sign of the young woman in question._

 _So far there have been no clues as to her whereabouts. There are no signs of forced entry at her flat—though Aurors have reported that they are not ruling it out as a possibility. As of right now, no ransom note has been issued, and no one has come forward to claim responsibility for her disappearance. The Dark Arts revival group, Dark Rising, is under scrutiny, as they have been linked to a string of recent kidnappings, but there has been no evidence connecting them. The Weasleys are asking for anyone with any information to please contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as soon as possible._

Draco stared at another image of her, this one waving up at him cheekily, an uneasy feeling suffusing through him.

Perhaps her declaration to him hadn't been so out of the blue after all, yet how it could be connected to this he had no idea. The more he thought about it, however, the more uneasy he became. She had looked scared after he had told her that he hadn't asked her. The fact had only confused him at the time, but now, put into perspective, it made all of this seem much worse.

He should have pursued her and gotten to the bottom of it like he had initially thought, and he cursed himself for being such a coward. He had balked at the idea of finding out why she had thought he would have asked her out, and even more at the thought that it was some sort of joke.

Obviously, his cowardice had hurt more than just himself, once again.

Swearing, he folded the paper and tossed it away from himself, looking down at his breakfast unenthusiastically, his appetite long forgotten.

He was going to have to go see Potter about this, but the prospect made his blood run cold. No matter how much time passed, he always had this overwhelming feeling that the Aurors were just waiting for an excuse to throw him into the cell in Azkaban right next to his father. There were no longer Dementors, but it still wasn't where he wanted to spend any time, even though a tiny voice in the back of his mind always tried to convince him that that was where he belonged—and it didn't matter how much he worked, how many people he saved, or how much money he gave to charities, it never went away.

Getting to his feet he got ready, sending a quick owl to Luna before throwing some Floo powder into his fireplace and striding in before he could think better of it.

Moments later he found himself glancing around at the oppressive main hall of the Ministry of Magic. The air was filled with the glow of candles, and witches and wizards hurried across the space with an air of purpose. Several of them glanced his way, scowling when they realized who he was.

Draco straightened his spine and stared impassively back at them, silently daring them to do something. As usual, however, they simply turned away and returned to their lives. Despite his history, he was useful to them, and most of them knew it. Over the past five years enough people had come through his ER that almost everyone knew someone he had helped. It seemed to have awarded him a place in society where he could be looked down upon, but not acted upon—and considering the alternative, given what he had allowed to be put on his arm, it was the best he could hope for.

With a silent sigh, he squared his shoulders and strode purposefully towards the front desk. After the usual drama that any visit here brought, in which they confiscated his wand (because any former Death Eater, even a useful one, cannot be trusted in the government building with a wand) he was on the lift and heading down towards the Department of Magical Law Enforcement trying to ignore the churning in his stomach.

The lift came to a halt and a blast of noise and chaos greeted him, and he was momentarily taken aback. There were Aurors and other Ministry officials in a right ruckus all about the large room: they were running from one point to another, yelling at each other, sending notes flying, or some combination of the three.

He swallowed thickly, then stepped off the lift, the doors clanging shut loudly behind him. Several people turned to look at him and froze. Slowly the whole room came to a stop, all eyes on him. He stared back, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. He knew those looks: they were the kind associated with a witch-hunt—or a wizard-hunt in this case.

"Malfoy," a voice called to his right, and he hated himself that the familiar sound brought with it a wave of relief. It was short lived, however, for there was an uncompromising look on the Boy Who Lived Twice's face. What the hell was going on? "In here."

With a final glance at the crowd, Draco walked forward, exuding calm even though inside he was beginning to panic.

He followed Potter into an office covered in clutter. Parchments and quills, half-empty mugs of coffee and take-out boxes coated nearly every flat surface of the room. The other man shut the door behind him, and then walked over to his desk, vaguely waving at the chair opposite. Momentarily distracted, Draco sat, trying to keep the disgust off his face as he glanced around. Didn't his bosses enforce any cleaning standards whatsoever? He supposed when you were the saviour of the world the standards were different.

"So are you here to confess?" Potter asked shortly, levelling his green eyes on him.

"What?" Draco asked, snapping his head around, his distaste with his surroundings forgotten.

"I said, are you here to confess?"

"Confess to what?" Draco demanded, absently noting a ringing in his ears.

"Kidnapping Ginny Weasley."

Draco stared at him. The chair he was sitting on seemed to be twisting beneath him. This couldn't be happening.

"I've done no such thing," he said, his voice much calmer and resolute than he felt. He leant into the sound, trusting his ingrained training to get him through. It had always worked before, against far more frightening opponents.

"We just received photographic evidence that says otherwise," Potter told him, picking something up off of his desk.

"What?"

"Someone sent this in, about ten minutes before you showed up," Potter told him, holding up an image. "Ron was just getting a team ready to come get you, but you've saved us some tax money by showing up on your own."

Draco looked at the image in the other man's hand, the twisting sensation travelling up his spine. It was so profound that he was vaguely afraid that he was leaning to the right along with it.

For there, glancing over his shoulder as he moved away from the camera, was a man who looked undeniably like himself. He was dressed in Muggle clothes (clothes he would never wear of his own free will), and you could just see red hair hanging over his left arm, and a woman's legs dangling over the right. He looked at the shoes and felt something within him wilt. They were the same shoes Weasley had been wearing the day before.

Draco reached out and took the image with numb fingers. He watched the image over and over, trying to find the man behind the mask, but over and over again he just saw himself apparently kidnapping the Minister's daughter.

"This isn't me," he told Potter. He looked over at the other man's face, so similar yet so different from what he had known in school, and he felt bizarrely detached from reality. This couldn't actually be happening, could it? Draco glanced at the photo again and something in his brain snapped, the world coming back into poignant focus once more, his spine straight and sturdy. "A witch or wizard took this photo, and they knew who both of us were and didn't do anything to stop me—him. Shouldn't you be concerning yourself with whoever took this?"

"How I do my job is none of your concern, Malfoy," Potter snapped. "All I'm concerned about is finding out where Ginny is."

"Well, I don't know, because that wasn't me."

"The photo says otherwise."

"It wouldn't be the first time someone pretended to be someone else to commit a crime, as you should well know."

"We're not talking about Crouch," Potter said, his expression darkening. "We're talking about you kidnapping Ginny."

As Draco assessed his former school-time rival, he felt his stomach clench up painfully. Potter wasn't joking around. He actually believed that he was not only capable of kidnapping Ginny Weasley, but that he had done so.

"You can't honestly believe this," Draco snapped, shoving the photo back at the git. He could feel his grip on his calm persona threatening to slip away. "After all we've been through? After all the times that I've saved her life? What would I have to gain by kidnapping my former patient and pretend that I have no idea what's going on?"

"She's not just your former patient," Potter said calmly. "She's also the only daughter of the Minister, a member of the Holyhead Harpies, a former member of the DA. And she used to be my wife."

Despite the circumstances, that last word stabbed into Draco's heart.

"It always comes back to you," Draco said, feeling his lip curl. "Contrary to popular belief, the whole world doesn't revolve around you, Potter."

"I know that," Potter snapped, glaring at him. It was a look that was so familiar, Draco would have felt a bit of pride at having achieved it if the circumstances were different. "But it doesn't change the realities of who she is and what she represents to the public."

Potter glanced away, his jaw shifting. When he finally looked back his face was composed, as though he had slid into his professional persona.

"So if you're not here to confess, then why are you here?"

"I saw her last night," Draco said, feeling a slight glimmer of hope; he was at least being allowed to tell his side. "She was acting strangely, as though she had had a conversation with me that had never happened. It was shortly before her Portkey was supposed to leave."

Potter's eyes narrowed.

"You knew when her Portkey was leaving?"

"Luna's my friend, you know," Draco snapped before he could stop himself. He could feel his cheeks heating up, which just made it worse. "She tells me what's happening in her life."

Potter's look of surprise made Draco want to pull his wand, and he might well have if he still had it (apparently their concerns with former Death Eaters weren't so far fetched after all). Was it that hard to believe that the craziest girl in school had befriended him? That he actually had friends after everything that had happened?

"But that's beside the point," Draco said firmly. "I had nothing to do with this." He gestured towards the image on the desk. "That wasn't me. All I'm doing is reporting to you that Weasley was acting strangely before she disappeared."

The other man just glared at him.

"Potter," Draco finally said, trying to keep his voice level. "I couldn't possibly gain anything by doing this. You have to believe that."

"I don't know what to believe," Potter said, shaking his head. "All I know is that Ginny is missing, probably injured, and someone sent us photographic evidence that you did it."

"What do you mean, probably injured?" Draco asked carefully, a shiver running down his spine.

"We have several Muggle witnesses who saw Ginny step back into traffic and get hit by a car," Potter said grimly, and Draco's mouth almost fell open.

"Is she all right?" he demanded, forgetting himself.

"That's what I was hoping you could tell me," Potter said, glaring at him. "The witnesses all reported a blond man rushing over and picking her up. He yelled at them that he was a Healer before running off with her."

Draco tried to swallow, but his mouth and throat were dry.

"It wasn't me," he said softly, feeling deflated. Images flashed through his mind of Weasley's panicked eyes from the last time she had been in his ER. Did she look up at this impostor the same way, expecting him to help her, only to find out it wasn't actually him? "And even if it was, there is no way that I wouldn't bring her to the ER. She wasn't in a good state before all of this."

He looked at the scar-faced saviour of the world for understanding, but all he saw was scepticism.

"If anyone was in a position to repair the damage without having to go to St Mungo's, it would be you."

"I wouldn't do that," Draco said through gritted teeth, then decided to try and redirect this insanity: "Potter, if she was hit by a car you need to find her, and fast. Her previous injuries severely compromised her. She won't last long without medical attention."

"What do you mean, 'won't last long?'" he asked, and Draco felt irritation flare through him. He had forgotten how dense the git could be.

"What do you think I mean," he snapped. "If she got hit hard enough, and her injuries are re-agitated, she could be dying." If she wasn't dead already—but he refused to voice that scenario, lest it came to fruition.

Potter stared at him, horror flickering across his face. "The witnesses said she flew at least twenty feet through the air."

Draco sat back, the same horror the other man displayed washing over him, his posture going slightly slack. The ringing in his ears got louder, and his skin began to tingle.

"Fuck," he said softly, staring vacantly at the space between them.

"It wasn't you, was it?" Potter asked, and Draco snapped his eyes towards him.

The fact that the man was such an idiot, that he couldn't realize that this accident was actually life-threatening, and that he wasn't tearing the city apart in an attempt to find her, crashed into him. All thoughts of calm, of panic and horror, left his mind, leaving behind a startling rage.

"Of course it wasn't me! And if you were doing your fucking job properly you would be out there looking for her and not wasting your time! She's dying, Potter!"

The door flew open with a bang.

"Harry, is everything—"

Draco barely had a chance to look over his shoulder, before he found himself being thrown back onto the desk, several things jabbing painfully into his back. Weasel King's hand was gripping his shirt collar, his wand pressed painfully against his cheek.

"Where's my sister, you fucking ferret?" he thundered at him, and Draco blinked dumbly up at him, his rage completely forgotten.

"Ron!" Potter shouted. "It wasn't him!"

"What do you mean?" the redhead demanded, increasing the pressure of his wand against his face. Draco felt a spark singe his skin. "He's in the picture!"

"It wasn't me!" Draco gritted out, his hands coming up to push at him. "And as I was just telling Potter, you need to find her because she needs medical attention—now."

Weasel King stared down on him, his face an ugly shade of puce and his eyes a little wild. Draco felt a stab of fear go through him. He knew that if Potter hadn't been in the room with them, he would be well on his way towards a slow and painful death.

"Ron, let him go," Potter commanded.

Weasel King continued to glare down at him, but a moment later, to Draco's utter amazement, the enraged redhead did just that. He stepped back from him, lowering his wand, but he did not put it away. Draco pulled himself up gingerly, trying his best not to wince as he did so.

"You had better be right, Harry," he said, still glaring at Draco.

"Give me Veritaserum and question me, if you like," Draco said, straightening his clothes. "But you're wasting time that could be better spent looking for your sister."

Potter stared at him, and if Draco didn't know for certain that the other man was a miserable Legilimens (something Snape had assured him) he would have been mentally preparing himself for an assault.

"Do you have any enemies, Malfoy," Potter asked finally. Weasel King snorted, and Draco felt inclined to agree with him, though he would never admit it. "Anyone who would want to frame you for this, assuming that you're telling the truth, and this isn't you." He waved the picture at him.

"It's not," Draco snapped. "And take a moment and think about that, Potter. Not only the whole of your side of the war hates me, but so does the whole of mine. And now, given my career, anyone who I failed to save has family members who, if they hadn't already, have joined the I Hate Draco Malfoy club."

"I love that club," Weasel King said wistfully, and Draco glared at him, clenching his jaw.

"There's no need to be so dramatic," Potter said, running a hand through his messy hair. "I needed to ask. Has anyone been more vocal about hating you than usual?"

Draco thought back, but nothing came to mind. He shook his head.

"No," he replied. "And"—he added quickly—"I haven't been doing anything that would make someone hate me, other than my job. Nor have I had anyone die on me in a while, or at least, no one of consequence."

"Charming," Weasel King replied.

"Now will you stop wasting your time and do your job?" Draco demanded, the rage beginning to simmer once more. "She won't have much left."

"Why do you care so much?" Weasel King asked aggressively. "What's my sister to you?"

Oh, if only you knew, he thought, but instead snapped: "Nothing. Though if you don't find her I will lose everything because I don't think my innocence will matter if she dies."

"Is that all that matters to you?" Weasel King hissed. "Yourself?"

"Ron," Potter snapped as Draco opened his mouth to retort. "Enough." He turned to Draco. "If you think of anything useful Floo me immediately. And you might want to consider keeping your head down. If this hits the papers you're going to want to lie low."

"What do you mean, 'if this hits the papers'?" Draco demanded, glancing at the photograph debating if he could get away with stealing it. "Your lot isn't going to publish it, are you?"

"They won't let us," Weasel King said morosely, and both Draco and Potter glared at him. He shrugged indifferently. "Well, they won't."

"Of course we won't," Potter said with a scowl. "But whoever sent it probably has more planned than just telling us. And there's only so much pressure we can apply to the papers without people screaming censorship." The other man sighed, running his hand through his hair yet again putting it in utter disarray. "Just don't leave the country, and maybe call in some of your sick days, just to be safe."

"I can't do that," Draco said, a sneer on his face at the very thought. "I'm needed."

Weasel King laughed unkindly at that, shaking his head. "The day you're needed is the day Hell freezes over."

"You weren't singing that tune the last time they brought you into the ER, were you?" Draco snapped, glaring at him. He could feel the tops of his cheeks begin to burn once more. He wasn't sure if he was more furious at the audacity of the git for saying it, or with the voice in the back of his mind that was enthusiastically agreeing with him. He hated that he thought it was more to do with the latter.

"Do what you want, Malfoy," Potter said, waving his hand toward the door. "But don't say I didn't warn you. We're not the only ones with pull around here. And, as you said, our 'side' really doesn't like you all that much."

Draco scowled at both men in turn, then finally nodded his head and strode out of the room without a glance back. He stormed through to the lift, ignoring the once again boisterous room, glaring furiously at the lot of them as the lift doors slid shut. Yet even as the doors clanged ominously his fury gave way to the gnawing dread that had been festering ever since he had seen the picture. Weasley, his—Weasley was out there somewhere, hurt, possibly dying, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

-o-

The evening brought tidings of exactly what Potter had warned him about. There had been a late afternoon release from the _Prophet_ , and sure enough, his imposter had made the front page, along with eyewitness accounts, both Muggle and Wizard, all declaring the same thing Potter had: that he, Draco Malfoy, had kidnapped the Minister's only daughter.

Draco glared down on the paper, the food he had been trying to persuade himself to eat completely forgotten. The feeling of dread and impotence was gnawing at him, eating away his appetite, his calm, everything.

It had taken all of five minutes after the paper's release before the owls had begun to arrive—he had, after all, kidnapped an internationally renowned Quidditch star, while having the audacity of being a former Death Eater (being acquitted meant nothing as usual). There was currently a whole flock of them outside his windows, pecking at the wards that kept them a couple feet away, howlers clenched in their beaks or tied to their feet. It was going to be a disaster for the Ministry, but that wasn't his problem. It was entirely legal to ignore owls, and his premises was warded to keep all but approved ones out.

He had never been more grateful that his flat was on the eleventh floor of a Muggle high-rise, and that it was both Muggle and Wizard-proof (with the exception of the Aurors, whom he would never be rid of, he feared). He glanced down on the street and could see what he assumed were reporters milling about on the streets, watching the flock of birds, but they would never be able to find him up here. Here he was safe, as long as he never left again.

Draco sighed. His only consolation was that the Aurors had at least denied that he was involved. Potter himself had asserted that they were looking into a case of stolen identity as well Weasley's kidnapping. That he, Draco Malfoy, was not responsible. Not that it was going to do much good. The image alone was enough to ruin what little reputation he had.

The sound of the fireplace bursting to life cut through the air, and he turned, dropping the paper as he did so. Chief Willoughby's head was floating amongst the green flames, and Draco felt his spirits sink at the older wizard's expression.

"You've seen the paper, I'm assuming," Willoughby said without preamble.

"It wasn't me," Draco said automatically, mentally cringing at how asinine he sounded. One more problem with the public and he reverted back to his former, whiney self? Maybe he should just take that ticket to Azkaban and be done with it: they were obviously succeeding in ruining him.

"I didn't say it was," Willoughby said, shaking his head. "But that still hasn't stopped the almost constant stream of owls we have been receiving since the story hit."

Draco opened his mouth to ask what they said but closed it as he realized he didn't have to try hard to imagine what they would contain. He felt his spirits drop further.

"You're not going to have me come into work, are you?" Draco asked finally, refusing to slouch as the realization slowly began to sink in.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Willoughby said. "But you can't. People need to feel safe when they come here, especially to the ER. And this story, coupled with your past, er, associations, isn't going to allow for that." He glanced around uncomfortably. "A lot of people are calling for your resignation."

"You can't do that!" Draco shouted, leaping to his feet. "It wasn't me! I haven't done anything wrong! Even Harry bleeding Potter believes me!"

"Unfortunately, until Harry Potter can prove it to the rest of the world you're officially suspended until further notice." Draco blinked in surprise. Willoughby looked at him with contrition written all over his face. "I have no choice, Draco. I'm so sorry."

"Whatever," Draco said, recovering from his shock. "Just—just make sure whoever takes my post doesn't muck things up." He paused. "You're not going to put Sommers in charge, are you?"

"You know I can't tell you that," Willoughby said, shaking his head. "Just make sure that you don't come by the hospital unless you are in dire need of assistance. Frankly, I think it's best if you don't leave your flat at the moment. When you come back I want it to be to resume your position, not as a patient who has been lynched by an angry mob."

Draco kept his expression neutral, even though inside a part of him wanted to smile despite the circumstances. His boss was on his side. _Someone_ was on his side.

"Yah," Draco said instead, dropping back down into his chair. "I know the drill."

His boss' head nodded, and without saying much more than a goodbye, he disappeared, the green flames dying down with him.

Draco turned and looked down on his picked at dinner, the image of his imposter looking around beside it. He shoved both away, giving up completely. His heart was pounding uncomfortably against his chest, and his head was beginning to pound as well.

He hadn't felt like this in almost a decade.

Everything he had worked so hard to build was being torn away. Everything that he had struggled to escape just kept sucking him right back in.

Was there ever going to be a time when the damned mark on his arm wouldn't come back to haunt him? Were his past choices to save his family over society ever going to stop affecting him? Was he ever going to be able to save enough people to finally amend the damage and horror he had caused? That his damned father had caused?

He knew there never would be. He was tainted and no amount of work or magic could change that. He just hadn't been expecting everything to fall apart so easily. Nor for Weasley to get dragged into all of it.

Draco lowered his head down and rested his forehead against the cool surface of the table, closing his eyes.

His only consolation was that the usual urges weren't coming back along with everything, but he knew they would come. They always did. At the moment his worry over Weasley was keeping them at bay. Just like his worry for his family had before, and his concern for his patients did nearly every day. So long as he had something to direct it at, he was fine.

He felt dread and surprise spear through him, something slowly sinking into his mind. It had never occurred to him that despite all his intentions of doing something good with his life, that the positive effects for him were a result of the anguish of others. He shoved the thought violently aside. Now was not the time to fall apart, though it wasn't like he had anything better to do…

There was a crack of someone Apparating into his front foyer, and Draco quickly raised his head, rubbing furtively at his forehead. He got to his feet, listening to the sounds of coat and shoes being removed. Moments later Luna Lovegood wandered into the room.

"Loon," he said, his eyes flicking over her clothes, her figure, her hair. He tried to look at her face, but the terror that was suddenly coursing through him wouldn't allow it. He was terrified that her expression would say that she thought he had done it and that she had finally realized what he was. Then she would leave, and he would be alone once more—and though he knew he deserved nothing less, he didn't want it.

"Hi, Draco," she said as she walked over to him and pulled him into a tight hug.

Draco stiffened, then felt relief flood through him as quickly as the terror had come. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back just as tightly, putting his head down on the top of hers. The familiar scent of her mint and eucalyptus shampoo filled his senses, and he felt himself relax even more.

"When did you get back?" he asked, rubbing her back slightly.

"A few hours ago," she said into his chest, sounding contested. Draco lifted his head and looked down at her in surprise. Luna never cried. Never. Yet she looked up at him with her large eyes red-rimmed and full of tears. He tightened his arms around her, his heart hurting. "I only just got away from Ginny's family."

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, as she pulled back. He reached into his robes and pulled out a handkerchief, which he promptly handed to her. She dabbed at her eyes, and Draco led her over to the couch, sitting her down.

"No, thank you," she said, still dabbing at her eyes. "This whole thing has just..."

Draco stared down at her as she trailed off, at a loss for words. She hadn't said anything about a creature he had never heard of, her voice wasn't misty and dreamy, her expression wasn't calm. His Luna, the unflappable, intelligent, and powerful woman he had come to consider his best friend, was anything but her usual self. And if he hadn't already been feeling a horrible ache in his chest it would have started then. He was going to rip apart whoever had taken Weasley, for both women's sake.

The violence of his thoughts didn't even disturb him, as it usually would these days. It was a mark of just how out of sorts he really was.

Luna looked down on her lap. "And now they're trying to blame you."

"I didn't do it," he told her, squeezing her hand. The fear was gripping his heart again.

"Of course you didn't," she said, looking up at him, a rare frown on her face. "You would never purposely put her in harms way."

Draco nodded, wondering absently at her odd phrasing.

"I ran into her," Draco started slowly, unsure of how much to say. "It must have been just before she—before she was taken." He saw her in his mind's eye again, expression changing from breathless excitement to dawning horror. "She seemed convinced that I had, er, asked her out."

Luna's big blue eyes focused in on him, curiosity mixing with the sadness.

"Did you?"

"What? No. But it's strange that she would think that I would."

"And stranger yet that she would say yes?" Luna asked him intently, looking more like herself. If it hadn't been for her question, he would have felt a bit better.

"How do you know she said yes?"

"You wouldn't be so bothered if she hadn't."

Draco stared at her, once again stunned by how perceptive she could be. It had happened the first time she had sat herself down at his table while he had been having his weekly brunch, and it had been the beginning of their bizarre little friendship. At the time he had been horrified by how intrigued he was by her, but now it was something that was just part and parcel with Luna. She never ceased to surprise him with how clearly she saw through him (or other people, for that matter), but, as usual, he wasn't about to admit it. He didn't want her to know how well she got him, even if she was his best friend.

"Who would want to hurt both you and Ginny at the same time?" Luna asked, drawing his attention back to the moment.

"I don't know," he replied. "I've been going over it and there's no reason for anyone to hate me more than normal, let alone try to turn the Weasley rabble against me."

Luna nodded. "And who would have access to you to make a Polyjuice Potion?" she continued, looking off at something Draco couldn't hope to see.

"Anyone who could get into my locker at work, I suppose." He paused. "Or who touched me at work—or was just in my vicinity for that matter. Merlin knows I shed."

Luna nodded. "And who would know about your relationship with Ginny?"

Draco snapped his head up, expecting to see some indication that she was joking. However, she just looked steadily back at him.

"I do not have a relationship with Weasley," he told her firmly. "Never have, never will."

"You don't have to hide the truth from me, Draco," she said, smiling slightly. "No one would believe me anyway."

Draco opened his mouth, then smartly shut it. He wasn't going to have this conversation right now. Better yet, he wasn't going to have this conversation ever.

"If someone were to _misinterpret_ our interactions," he said as levelly as he could. "Then it would be someone who has been at the ER when Weasley's been admitted…"

There was a tapping at the window, and they both turned to find a large barn owl on the windowsill. He frowned, a shiver running down his spine. He didn't recognize it and yet it had gotten past his wards. With a bad feeling, he opened the window and the owl hopped in, offering him his leg where an envelope was attached. Draco gingerly took the letter and a moment later the bird took off without a backwards glance.

The letter was heavy in his hands and the weight seemed poignant somehow. His name was written clearly and elegantly on the front, and as he flipped it over he felt dread wash over him. There was no denying who was involved now. The Dark Rising symbol glared up at him.

"Whose it from, Draco?" Luna asked softly. She stepped up beside his elbow as, with slightly shaking hands, he broke the seal and opened the envelope.

He tugged the letter out, handing her the envelope, vaguely aware of her sharp intake of breath when she saw the seal for herself.

 _Malfoy,_

 _By now we assume we have your full attention and an idea of our motives—and if not motives, then the seriousness of our actions and just how badly we can ruin you. However, circumstances have changed, as they are want to do, and as such so have our plans._

 _If you want your Blood Traitor returned to you, meet us at the canning factory on Pletly Street at five o'clock._

Draco glanced at the clock on the mantel. That was in twenty-three minutes. Why were they giving him such a small window?

 _And bring one hundred thousand galleons with you. We know you're good for it: it will hardly make a dent in your savings, but for us, it will do wonders. Give us the money, we give you the girl._

 _Even think about going to the Aurors and she's dead. Bring anyone with you and they're dead._

 _Sincerely,_  
 _The Dark Rising_

Draco read the letter over several times, feeling anger, crippling fear, and horror alternate through his system.

They knew.

They knew about his fee—thing for Weasley. And, he realized as he thought about it, that of course they did. Of course they would have known. Parkinson had figured it out one day during their seventh year, and he knew the bint couldn't keep anything to herself to save her life. It was actually amazing, now that he thought about it, that one of them hadn't involved Weasley in their machinations with him sooner.

"Draco," Luna said finally, her hand on his arm. He jumped slightly and looked at her. "We have to take this to Harry."

"We can't," he said, shaking his head. "Not until after. We don't have time."

"But, you can't go," she said, a pleading in her big blue eyes.

"I have to," he said, running a hand through his hair. He didn't want it to be true, but it was. At her unconvinced look, he sighed. "Luna, if they're sending me this then something is terribly wrong."

"Of course something's terribly wrong," she said calmly, watching him. "They have Ginny."

"There's more to it than that." He hesitated, then ploughed forward. "They didn't put it in the papers, but We—Ginny, got hit by a car before they took her." Luna gasped, and Draco felt like an arse for telling her so bluntly. "If they're sending a letter now that means she doesn't have any more time."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered, her hand at her mouth, an expression the likes of which he had never seen there before. He felt fear begin to suffuse through him once more. He couldn't lose her too.

"I didn't want you to worry more than you already were," he said, the explanation sounding weak even to his own ears, but it was the truth. "I'm sorry, I should have told you."

"You should have," she said, nodding, her expression starting to return to normal. "You don't have to lie to me, Draco. Ever."

"I know," he said, though he knew he would still withhold the truth from her. It was so ingrained in him, that even she wasn't immune. "I'm sorry."

"We still have to Floo Harry," Luna said, taking a step towards the fireplace.

"No," Draco said, shaking his head. "That's what you're going to do after I leave."

"What do you mean?" she asked, shaking her head. "You can't go there without any money."

"I won't be," he said, something resolving itself within him. It was the same feeling he felt in the ER, where whatever had to be done was just done, and he dealt with the repercussions afterwards.

Draco pulled out his wand and walked over to one of his bookshelf. He carefully levitated it out of its nook, placing it in front of the one beside it. He knelt down and popped the floorboards up, exposing the cavity he had created between the joists. He grabbed the duffle bag from within it, and pulled it out, bringing it over to the table.

"Draco… what is that?"

"Emergency bag," he said with an indifferent shrug, not looking at her. But Luna was silent, and he finally glanced at her despite himself, only to be startled when he saw sadness on her face instead of disgust.

"I wish you didn't feel that you needed that," she told him softly.

Draco ducked his head. He felt the same way but didn't voice it, busying himself with digging through the bag instead. It was full to bursting with everything he could possibly need: from tents and camping gear; identification that was both Muggle and Wizard, for a selection of countries; clothing to blend in for any climate, or population; books and special items; an invisibility cloak; a spare wand; money. Everything he hadn't had the last time.

He pulled a bag of coins out, glancing into it. He took a handful out and put them back into the duffle.

"If the Aurors ever find that they'll think you're guilty of whatever they're accusing you of," Luna said softly.

"I'd like to think I'll be using it and out of their reach if it ever comes to that," he said, grimacing. Honestly, he hoped to Merlin that he never had to use it, or the one in his office, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew full well what his place was in this society, and he also knew he was too stubborn to succumb to it if he didn't have to.

Draco glanced at the clock. There were ten minutes left. He put the money aside and replaced the duffle, putting everything back in its place. He then turned his attention back to Luna, only to find that she wasn't there. He felt fear grip his heart. Had she run off?

"Loon?" he called cautiously.

She walked back into the room, dressed in her coat and shoes, holding his other invisibility cloak.

"What's that for?" he asked carefully, already not liking where this was going.

"I'm coming with you," she said as though it was the most obvious answer in the world, and it was, wasn't it? Why wouldn't she try to come with him? Weasley was her best friend.

"No," he said firmly. "You're not. You're waiting five minutes after I Disapparate and going to get Potter and the rest of them. Then you're coming after us."

Luna's face hardened slightly, taking him by surprise.

"Please," he said, the word seeming to be wrenched from his chest. "I… couldn't handle it if something happened to you."

She stared at him a moment longer, then her expression softened back into the dreamy expression that he had grown so accustomed to.

"Your plan makes sense," she said, nodding her head. "But don't think that I won't hold it against you if you get yourself killed."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Draco replied, grimacing. He glanced around, patting his pockets, finally striding away to grab his cloak and a few medical supplies, adding them to the collection he usually travelled around with.

He came back into the room, picking up the letter and the moneybag once more. Both felt heavy in his hands, though neither weighed more than the other, as the bag was charmed to be near weightless.

Was he really about to do this? Now that he was ready to go, his mind was catching up with his preparatory actions, and he could feel his resolve draining out of him.

Was he really willing to give that much money to a group of terrorists so they could do who knew what with it? Did he want to be a part of that, even if it was because of an act of desperation? Though that was just it, wasn't it? Once again he was being forced to act a certain way so that he could protect someone important to him; and like it or not, Weasley was important to him. He just hoped that she never actually found out how much.

"Give them the letter," Draco said reluctantly, handing it to Luna. He didn't want to, didn't want them to know what lengths he would go to for a Weasley, but he wasn't an idiot. Without the letter, any money tying him to Dark Rising, regardless of his explanation, was a one-way ticket to Azkaban. And though he knew that was probably where he belonged, he wanted to end up there for doing something deserving of it, not by trying to do the right thing. But, there again, wasn't that exactly why he had ended up where he had, where he was now? Because he had tried to do what he had thought was right at the time?

Luna distracted him as she stepped up to him and hugged him, harder than she ever had. Draco was startled into inaction, stiffening despite himself, but brought himself to hug her back, kissing her cheek when she finally pulled away.

"Come back in one piece," she told him, her huge eyes locking with his. "With Ginny, if you can. I need you both."

Draco nodded his head, unable to find his voice. He glanced at the clock, his heart pounding against his ribs as he realized it was his moment. And damnit all, he was going to act, wasn't he? He was an even bigger idiot than he ever gave himself credit for.

He gripped his wand, smiled awkwardly at Luna, and Disapparated.

-o-

 **A/N:** Well, that's chapter two. I hope Draco is still as mysterious and intriguing as you found him before. :S


	3. Chapter 3 - Hopeful Hearts

Title: Somewhere I Belong

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

 **A/N:** I think I might have gone a little overboard with the ellipses in this chapter... you are forewarned...

Disclaimer: I claim nothing to be my own, other than this ever so slightly original plot.

 **Somewhere I Belong**

 **Chapter 3**

 **Hopeful Hearts**

-o-

With a loud crack, Draco reappeared in front of the abandoned canning factory just as Old Ben began to chime five in the distance. With his wand up he surveyed the area, but there was no one around.

He peered into the shadows, his ears straining to hear anything. Yet nothing caught his eye, and all he could hear was the distant sound of traffic and the rattling of an old fan. Where were they?

As the clock clanged its last declaration of the hour, the ground beneath him began to glow. He looked down to find an iridescent blue line which was leading towards an open door in the warehouse.

Draco stared at it for a moment, debating his options, then sighed and headed towards the door. He glanced over his shoulder as he walked, only to see the blue line disappearing behind his feet. Despite himself, he was rather impressed with the spell work.

At the threshold of the warehouse, he cast a reveal charm but there was no one inside, other than a few rats. The light was dim at best, and the line was leading out across a catwalk, then down set after set of rusted stairs, which disappeared into darkness stories below.

Draco felt an almost overpowering desire to go back home to where Luna would still be waiting, and have Potter and his ilk come through and do the saving. That was their job, after all—and, if memory served him correctly, they enjoyed doing it. The pressure in his chest, his pounding heart, the shortness of breath—making him feel like he would never breathe properly again—were anything but enjoyable. He was a Healer, not an Auror, and this was the reason why.

The fear on Weasley's face, when they had spoken in the park, flashed across his mind, and he found himself stepping forward before he could think better of it. He was such an idiot. All he was going to do was get himself killed, and yet he kept walking. His footsteps echoed loudly across the abandoned space, and as he began to carefully descend into the darkness he lit his wand, slightly mollified by the small circle of light that surrounded him.

The magicked line led him down flight after flight of stairs until he reached a cracked and crumbling concrete floor. What the narrow beam of light from his wand revealed of his surroundings was almost worse than the oppressive darkness around him. All the hairs along his skin were standing on end, and his senses were all straining, screaming at him that this was a terrible idea. The desire to Disapparate away was almost overwhelming, but he tried to remind himself how upset Luna would be if he came back without her friend. He ignored how upset he himself would be.

The line led him across the floor to another rusted-out door, with more steps that led down into even darker blackness. His feet came to a stop, and he stood there, breathing hard, shaking slightly with the effort to not run away. Bloody hell, he was such a coward.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then stepped down into the darkness.

The temperature dropped as he descended, and when he eventually reached level ground he could see his breath coiling through the air. Directing his wand around, he realized that he was in the Muggle underground, and, if the state of the tracks was any indication, it must have been long abandoned. The line led him to the left, and with a glance around he followed after it, his footsteps uncomfortably loud as he went.

After what felt like ten minutes of walking, he felt a shiver across his skin and froze. There was an Anti-Apparation ward up. He looked over his shoulder but all he could see was the abandoned tunnel.

As he glanced around it occurred to him that he should have left some sort of trail behind himself. There was no way for Luna and Potter to find him down here. He cursed, momentarily debating going back, but he didn't have time for that. Weasley didn't have time for that. He was just going to have to do this on his own and hope he didn't fuck it up too badly.

He turned, and without allowing it more thought, he hurried down the tunnel, following the line. The shale under his feet was almost deafening, the only thing louder being his breath or perhaps the pounding of his heart. Every now and again he would pass an open doorway, it's darkness impenetrable, and a shiver travelled down his spine every time.

After what seemed like an hour, the tracks bent to the left and as he rounded the corner a soft glow of light greeted his eyes. One of the rooms was occupied, and the blue line led right to it.

Draco paused and took a moment to gather his wits. He had no idea how Gryffindors could find this enjoyable. There was absolutely nothing enjoyable about an experience like this. Nothing at all. He just wanted to go back to his life. He knew it wasn't the most thrilling, and he knew his younger self would have been horrified at how anticlimactic it was, but it was a far cry less stressful than all of this hero nonsense. His brief stint as a Death Eater had cured him of a desire for anything more.

Noxing his light, he moved as quietly as he could over to the doorway and pressed his back against the wall. He took a deep breath, then carefully glanced around, his eyes sweeping the room beyond, only to freeze.

His father, who should have been in Azkaban, was standing in the centre of the room. Draco pulled back, leaning back against the brick wall, nausea rolling through his stomach. How had he gotten out? Better yet, what was he doing associating with this Death Eater revival group? Hadn't he assured his mother, many times over, that he was done with all of that? And Lucius had betrayed so many of them to get a lesser sentence, so why would they even be working with him?

Desperately trying to keep himself from hyperventilating, he straightened his spine and raised his wand, though he could still feel himself shaking. But he had a job to do, just like he did in the hospital. This was no different: it was just another unpleasant task that had to be accomplished. Only this time it involved his father and Weasley and—he cut himself off, and stepped into the room.

His father turned, and Draco felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He wasn't staring at his father at all, he was staring at himself. They were still Polyjuicing to look like him.

"About time you got here," the doppelgänger said with a sneer on his face. It was the same sneer his father had worn (and he himself, if he was being honest), but the man's posture was wrong, and the hair was too short. But still, did he really look that much like his father?

Draco felt the world spin dangerously beneath his feet. Dear Merlin, no wonder people hated him. He had tried for so many years to escape the man, but apparently he was physically incapable of doing so. He looked _just_ like him. The ridiculous urge to cry welled up in him, but he shoved it down so hard that he was surprised he didn't move with the effort.

"Where is she?" Draco demanded, the sound of his voice, steady as anything, calming him down.

"Over there," his other self said, waving carelessly towards a pile of what Draco had first taken to be a pile of rags. Now, as he looked more carefully, he could see a tuft of red hair amongst the fabric. "She's still alive, I think."

"She better be," Draco snapped, dragging his eyes away to glare at his not-self. "Her being alive was part of the deal."

"Then you better give me the money and be done with it," the not-him said indifferently.

"How do I know that you won't just kill us both the moment you get it?"

The other Draco held something up in his hand. It was an old sock.

"My Portkey leaves in thirty-seconds," he told him. "Give me the money and I'll be gone, nothing else to it. Don't give it to me, and I'll kill you both and then take it. It's your choice."

Draco stared at him, then pulled out the bag, anger rising in his throat. He didn't want to give it to him. He didn't like the idea of being manipulated once more, especially by another group of fanatics. He glanced over at the pile that was Weasley, then grimaced. There was nothing for it, however.

He checked the drawstring on the bag, then tossed it to his double, who caught it clumsily.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Malfoy," the other Draco said, then a moment later he disappeared.

Draco stood there, his breathing suddenly ragged, all of his nerves tingling in anticipation, waiting for something to happen. Yet, as the seconds turned to minutes and nothing transpired he began to believe that the other Draco had spoken the truth. All they wanted was the money.

"Weasley," he said finally, striding over and dropping to the ground next to her.

She was on her back, everything covered except for her head. Her eyes were closed and her usually vibrant hair was matted around her face. Her skin was filthy and blood-stained, so pale that even her freckles seemed diminished. She looked like some sort of broken doll, used and tossed aside like thoughtless trash. He was suddenly incredibly glad that Luna had not come with him because seeing her friend like this would have broken her heart.

Clenching his jaw he reached out, with a hand that only had a slight tremor, to check for a pulse. The moment it took for the tips of his fingers to feel the slight movement under her skin felt like a lifetime. But then relief was flooding through him, and he realized that until that moment he had been convinced that she would be dead.

Closing his eyes he took a deep breath, trying to calm his fraying nerves. Then he opened them, glancing around, before getting to work. He waved his wand, frowning at what the familiar runes told him: she was running out of time, and fast.

There were several pain patches on her, which surprised him, and he could detect that they had used rudimentary healing spells on her as well. It was the only reason she was still alive, but the number of patches was a problem in themselves: she could easily slip into a coma and never wake up.

He gingerly peeled a couple of them off, then pressed his hand against her cheek. It was cool and clammy under his touch.

"Bloody hell, Weasley," he whispered feeling despair threatening to take over. The Anti-Apparation barrier was a good ways back, and getting her there was going to be difficult. But he didn't have the time to wait.

He started slightly as she stirred.

"You're awake?" he asked softly, not noticing that his thumb was still gently rubbing her cheek.

Her eyes popped open, disoriented until they focused on him, then they flared wide in alarm. She cringed away from him, her body trying to curl in on itself and failing.

"Get… away from me," she croaked, and Draco snatched his hand back. He wasn't sure why he felt so surprised—they had been using his face to get her into this position, after all—yet he felt like she had slapped him.

"Weasley," he said as calmly as he could. "It's me. The real me. I've come to take you home."

"How… do I know… i-it's you?" she said hoarsely, her breath short. She was starting to shake with the effort of keeping herself away from him.

"What can I do?" he asked, resisting the urge to reach over and attempt to physically calm her.

"Tell something… only you… know."

"When I was a kid I used to be quite fond of ferrets," he heard himself blather, feeling desperate. "Always wanted one as a pet, actually, but mother hates them. Yet after that madman who wasn't actually Moody turned me into one I was forever put off by the idea."

Weasley laughed shortly, then groaned in pain.

"Don't make me laugh," she said weakly, though her body relaxed. When her eyes met his again he felt relief flood through him as his usual Weasley looked back at him: tired, in pain, but more like the woman he had come to know through their brief moments together over the years.

"I'll try not to," he replied. "You believe it's me?"

"No one else… would tell me… s-such… pathetic story," she said laboriously. She pulled her mouth into a lopsided grin around her split lip.

"Indeed," he said, dipping his head slightly, leaning towards her once more. "I'm going to patch you up as best I can, then I'm taking you to the hospital, okay?"

She nodded her head, closing her eyes.

"What're you… d-doing here?" she asked as he slipped his hand into his pocket.

"You mean instead of Potter?" He grabbed the first-aid kit—ignoring the sting he felt in his chest—and pulled it out, using his wand to make it bigger. Another wave had items soaring up into the air.

"No… instead of… Aurors."

Draco hesitated as he pulled the blanket the rest of the way back to assess the damage. She winced, and he felt a pang of guilt spear through him.

"They blamed me," he told her carefully as he began to feel around her limbs, noting when she winced. Everything corresponded with what the runes told him. "And then sent me an owl about it, with a very small window for action. If I didn't come your side never would have forgiven me."

"Why didn't… go to Aurors?"

"Luna's doing that as we speak," he told her, carefully peeling two more pain patches off of her. "There wasn't time to do anything else."

"Luna's home?"

"Yah, she came back as soon as she could."

She moaned softly. "Don't… feel so great."

"That doesn't surprise me," he told her, pulling back and glancing at the equipment floating in the air. It somehow didn't seem enough, but in reality, there was little he could do for her here. At least her brace was still on, which was something at least. "You've gone and mucked up all my hard work. Very ungrateful of you, really. I thought you were at least clever enough to know not to play in the street."

She snorted, then moaned in pain once more.

"Shut… up," she groaned, glaring at him briefly before closing her eyes.

"Ah, I see you're lovely attitude hasn't changed," he quipped, sounding far more cheerful and confident than he felt. "I'm going to try and stabilize you now. This might get uncomfortable."

She nodded and he waved his wand sending everything down to secure the damage to her body. She winced and gritted her teeth, but hardly made a sound. She was made of sterner stuff than he was, he realized, because he knew he would have been howling in her place.

"I thought… make pain go 'way… not worse," she said, her voice wavering as he worked. She tried to glare at him again, but it looked more like a grimace this time. Her body had begun to shiver, and her teeth rattled slightly.

"I can only do so much," he replied, faking nonchalance and glancing over his work. It was about as good as he could hope for. "You haven't exactly picked the best hideout, Weasley."

The look she gave him was weak, but it conveyed her sentiment nonetheless.

"Getting you out of here is going to be tricky," he continued as he sat back, sending all of his equipment back where it had come from and replacing the kit in his pocket. "We can't Disapparate out because they've put up wards a ways back. It's going to be painful as soon as I move you."

"Whatever," she gritted out. "But you owe me… for this."

"Tell you what," he said distractedly, as he cast several charms on her, namely to secure her spine and reduce her weight. He cast a final warming charm on her and her shivering ebbed away but didn't stop. "When you're your usual charming self again, I'll take you out for dinner to make up for it."

He shut his mouth as quickly as he had opened it, cursing himself and his loose tongue. He was obviously more stressed out by this scenario than he realized. He glanced cautiously down on her, feeling the tops of his cheeks begin to burn.

"Are you trying… to entice me to… cooperate… or scare me off?" she said, a pained smile on her lips, one that almost reached her eyes. "Accepting… your invitation… got me into this… mess…."

"It wasn't mine," he said lamely.

"Forgot," Weasley said, grimacing as he took off his cloak and wrapped her in it as best he could. "That was… Malfoy… who smiles."

"Oi, I smile!" He glared at her as he leant back once more.

"Never seen it," she said, shaking her head ever so slightly causing some of her hair to slip down onto her face. He balled his hand into a fist to keep himself from reaching out and pushing it back.

"It's hard to smile at someone who's always calling you a dictator," he snapped, getting carefully to his feet.

"You are one," she said, looking blearily up at him.

"It's for your own good," he told her, glancing around one final time before taking a steadying breath. He didn't want to do this, but _Levicorpus_ was going to be too slow. She needed to get out of there as fast as possible.

"Exactly… what… dictator… would say."

"And then you wonder why I don't smile at you," he said, shaking his head. "I'm going to pick you up now, all right, Weasley? I've made you weigh nothing, so I might actually be able to manage it."

"Too weak… to carry me?" she asked by way of reply, and Draco rolled this eyes as he stooped down and put his arms under her shoulders and knees, still gripping his wand. Their eyes locked and he felt something in his chest tighten. Her body looked so defeated and broken, yet her spirit was still shining through her eyes. Still fighting to survive despite everything. How did she do it?

At her nod, he lifted her up as gently as he could. There were still tears in her eyes and she still cursed and winced, but she didn't tell him to stop, didn't give up. Draco felt an intense stab of guilt, even though he hadn't done this to her. Well, in a way he had, but—

"Well, if you didn't weigh so much it wouldn't be a problem," he replied, trying to distract himself. It was a lie, however because she was tiny and he had had to carry much heavier patients than her without magic. Once he was standing he adjusted her in his arms and she let her head curl in and rest against his chest, her body limp.

"All muscle," she slurred. She took a shallow breath then another. "You smell different."

"Good?" he asked distractedly as he looked down on her. If the circumstances weren't so dire he would have taken a moment to enjoy the feel of her there. She seemed to fit perfectly in his arms…

"World's… spinning," she muttered into his shirt, snapping him out of what he shouldn't have been thinking about, regardless of the circumstances.

"I know," he replied, lighting up his wand. Glancing around one final time he made his way carefully out of the room, trying not to jostle her too much. "But you have to try and stay awake, all right, Weasley?"

"Whatever… dictator," she mumbled, and Draco couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

As he reached the tunnel he looked around in the darkness, aiming his wand this way and that, as best he could. It looked more forbidding now. At least with the line he had felt relatively secure, but now it was just him and his—and the broken Weasley. He could feel panic licking at his heels, but he did his best to ignore it. Releasing a breath he struck out to the right, walking as quickly and as smoothly as he could, his footsteps crunching loudly as he went.

Weasley's body relaxed further into his arms.

"Hey," he said, watching as she stirred. "No falling asleep."

"I'm awake," she said groggily, barely managing to open her eyes.

"You need to stay that way."

"Stop being… so… bossy," she said without any conviction.

"Stop being such a brat," he said before he could stop himself.

"Got hit… by… car," she muttered. "And then… you kid… napped me."

"I hope you don't intend on blaming me for the rest of our lives because of something someone else did with my face," he said as they moved past doorway after doorway, the darkness seeming to watch them.

"What's… in it… for me?" she said softly, her eyes sliding shut once more. Her voice was painful to listen to, and he wanted nothing more than for her to be able to stop and rest. However, he was terrified that now that she was awake that if she stopped it would be the last time she said anything.

"You have to stay awake, Weasley," he told her firmly. "I know it's hard, but you have to."

She made a noncommittal noise.

"How about you tell me a story," he said, his mind spinning for a reason to keep her awake. "Tell me why you're just Weasley again. What happened to being Mrs Potter? I thought he was the love of your life or some blather like that. I've never had a chance to ask you when you're in the hospital."

She blearily opened her eyes, and her left shoulder moved ever so slightly under his hand.

"Not right… together," she said finally. "But… too busy… to realize."

Draco nodded, though her eyes were already sliding shut.

"Then… I got pregnant… and all… fell apart."

"You have a kid?" he asked in surprise, hating how much the idea hurt. The thought of her with Potter's child…

"No," she said flatly before he could get carried away. "Miscarried."

"Oh," he said, quickly feeling like the biggest arsehole in the world. This was turning out to have been a bad choice in topics. The last thing she needed right now was another reason to be upset. That and he knew she wouldn't be telling him this part if she wasn't stoned on pain patches. "I'm sorry."

"It was… what it… was," she said, her voice laced with a sadness that made Draco feel even worse. "But… made me… start living… f-for me." She paused. "Family doesn't know… don't tell them… please."

Draco looked down at her in surprise. Now he was certain that she wouldn't have said a word to him. He felt like he was taking advantage of her, and he desperately hoped that she wouldn't remember this and feel the same way.

"Why have you kept it a secret from them?" The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them.

"Don't… know," she replied, surprising him. "A Weasley… having trouble…" She trailed off, turning her face into his chest.

"Sorry," he said, squeezing her gently in an attempt to physically convey the sentiment. "I shouldn't have asked you that. It was none of my business."

Silence greeted his ears, and Draco looked down, only to find the redhead looking up at him, an exhausted but incredulous expression on her face.

"What?" he asked, frowning at her.

"Never thought… ever hear… a Malfoy… apologize… to a Weasley," she told him weakly, smiling ever so slightly. "Thought you'd… burst into… flames."

"I apologize to people all the time," Draco said, glaring down at her, though there was no malice in his expression.

"I've… never… heard you," she told him, closing her eyes again.

"Just like I never smile around you either," he told her. "It's almost like you don't know me at all, isn't it?"

She snorted weakly. "I'm… really… tired, Malfoy."

"I know," he replied, squeezing her gently once more. "We're almost there." He hoped. "Just stay with me."

"M'kay…" she whispered, her voice fading away.

"Weasley—"

The sound of falling rock brought Draco to a standstill, his words dying in his throat. He extinguished his wand and stepped as quietly as he could over to the wall, pressing his back against it. As soon as the light went out his ears seemed to pick up on everything and anything, namely his heart pounding in his ear, his increasing breaths, and Weasley's shallow ones. Too shallow. He squeezed her carefully, but she didn't stir.

He glanced around, grimacing, then pinched her thigh. She moaned softly but didn't wake.

"I heard something," a familiar voice said further down the tunnel, and relief flooded through him. He wasn't even ashamed of it this time.

"Potter?" he asked cautiously.

"Malfoy?"

A moment later the tunnel was filled with light, exposing Potter, Weasel King, Luna, Longbottom, and several other Aurors, all squinting in the sudden brilliance.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Weasel King demanded, striding forward, arms outstretched as though to snatch his sister from his arms. Draco tightened his grip on her protectively, pressing himself further into the wall. "You had no business—" He cut off, a strangled noise escaping from his mouth. "What the hell did you do to her?"

"Ronald Weasley," Luna said sharply, as Potter snapped his name.

"Look at her," Weasel King groaned, his eyes not leaving her. "She's—"

Draco opened his mouth to tell him off, but Weasley groaned in his arms and started coughing wetly.

"We don't have time for this right now," Draco snapped, glancing around in alarm. Luna was by his side in an instant, her hand tightly gripping his bicep. "She needs to get to St Mungo's immediately."

"The Anti-Apparation wards are just a few feet behind us," Luna said softly.

"Good," Draco replied. "I need someone to come with me so that I don't get arrested for walking in there. They still think I'm the kidnapper."

"Aren't you?" Weasel King demanded.

"Ron!" both Luna and Potter said angrily.

"What?" the redhead snapped.

"I'm serious," Draco said as Weasley began to cough again, her whole body shaking with the effort. He increased his hold on her, feeling panic begin to grip his heart. "She's dying."

That snapped the lot of them to attention.

"I'll go," Longbottom said. Potter nodded, and moments later Draco felt himself being compressed into space, his best friend, a Weasley, and Longbottom along for the ride. If the situation wasn't so dire, he would have thought it was the beginnings of a terrible joke; which, really, just sort of summed up his life perfectly.

-o-

Draco glared at the dark haired man from across the table he had been asked to sit at. They were in one of the conference rooms in St Mungo's, and he knew an interrogation when he saw one, and this was exactly what this "friendly chat" was.

After over six hours he and a team of Healers and nurses, including his boss, had finally got Weasley as fixed up and stable as they could. He was pretty confident that everything was as good as it could be, given the circumstances, but it was going to take a while before she would be running around, let alone playing Quidditch. It still stunned him that she was even alive, considering what she had all gone through over the past twenty-four hours, but she was a stronger person than most people gave her credit for.

Now all they had to do was wait for her to wake up and make sure everything was indeed all right. In the convening time, Potter and his goons were determined to figure out what he had done wrong.

"So explain it to me again," Potter said, glaring at him. "You got the letter and just took it upon yourself to give money to a terrorist group?"

"There wasn't time to do otherwise," Draco snapped. "They only offered me a twenty-minute window to decide and act." He glared at the other man. "And you can't tell me that anything different would have happened if it had been in your hands."

Potter glared back at him. Draco was glad, that despite the interrogation, it was again just him and Potter. The Weasel King had been in a right state since they had arrived at the hospital, and Draco was making a point of avoiding him, even if he had rescued his sister. Apparently, he wasn't alone in that sentiment, for at the moment Longbottom was standing outside the door keeping watch.

"No," the bespectacled git said finally. "We wouldn't have. Though he would have put a trace on the money."

"I did," Draco said flatly.

"What?" Potter sputtered, and Draco glared at him. He wasn't an idiot.

He took out his wand and waved it, revealing the runes that would allow them to track the bag. Potter took out his own wand, a dumbfounded expression on his face as he recorded the information.

"It's attached to the bag, not the gold," he told him. "So act quickly, because it's not the most unique trick in the box. Though, given whom they took, I don't think they're as clever as they think they are."

"Do you usually have large sums of gold stashed away in your flat?"

"I don't see how my financial habits are pertinent to this investigation," Draco snapped, glaring at him. "I haven't done anything wrong. And not only was I framed and had my reputation tarnished further"—his glare increased at Potter's incredulous expression—"I am finding myself substantially poorer."

"The Ministry will reimburse you," Potter said, surprising him. He hadn't actually expected that at all. Not when a Malfoy was involved.

"Don't bother," Draco said firmly, keeping his expression neutral. "I'd rather you spend that money getting back what they took and stopping them altogether."

Potter arched his eyebrows but simply nodded.

"And Potter," he said, the matter just occurring to him. "Don't let anyone tell her about the money. She can't know."

"We can't tell her about the thing you did that saved her?" Potter asked incredulously. "I thought that it would be one more thing you could hold over all of us."

"And that's exactly why not," he snapped back. "None of this was her fault. She doesn't need to feel indebted to me of all people after everything else."

Potter stared at him. "Some days you really surprise me, Malfoy."

"If your opinion of me mattered at all, I might be flattered," Draco sneered.

"And then you say something like that, and everything is right again with the universe," Potter said dryly. "Do you have any idea why they would send you the ransom note instead of her family?" Draco was surprised that he hadn't said us.

"No clue," Draco lied. "The only time I've spent time with her is when she's been my patient, and even that is only for a brief period of time. I have nothing to do with her recovery. So I am assuming it has something to do with the Malfoy-Weasley feud and a nice bonus of ruining what little reputation I have."

Potter nodded. "It's just that you're not the first person they've gone after like this," Potter told him casually. "Though usually they go after life partners or family members, not patients."

"We're not secretly dating, if that's what you're thinking," Draco spat, though a part of him wished that they were. "If they're going after people important to their benefactors they would have been better served to go after Luna—though no, we aren't dating either, and never will be—but there is a more logical connection there than with Weasley."

"And yet you still paid."

"And yet if I hadn't and I missed the deadline I would have been responsible for the death of not only England's darling Chaser, but the ex-wife of Harry Potter, a member of the DA, daughter of the Minister, and a member of the Weasley clan. Did I forget any titles? No? Regardless, in light of that, I had to act because I just want to live my life, and I have no interest sitting behind bars for crimes that I did not commit."

Potter stared back at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Whatever, Malfoy," he said.

After that the interview carried on, Potter asking him about the events in several different ways until he seemed satisfied that Draco had honestly just been caught up in the events and not responsible for them—as well as to reassure himself that his ex-wife and a Malfoy were not dating behind his back.

A few days later, Draco still sneered at the memory as he found himself striding through the hospital. Would it really be that terrible of a reality? A Malfoy and a Weasley? He supposed it would be.

The papers were going wild speculating about what their relationship could be, from a secret love affair going back to their time at Hogwarts, to his using Dark Magic to ensnare her. It would have amused him, but despite a huge article on what had happened, how his actions had saved the youngest Weasley as well as led to the arrest of several members of Dark Rising, he was still getting distrustful glances and sneers. It kind of ruined the whole ordeal. It seemed a Malfoy could do no good, even when he did. And in that case, how could someone like him ever hope to be accepted by someone like her.

He rounded the corner and saw Willoughby walking out of the room he had been heading towards. He hadn't seen the Healer since the night he had brought Weasley in, and Draco realized with some surprise that he looked about as tired and worn as Draco himself felt. He supposed all of this had been a PR nightmare for him as well.

"Chief, why are you still here?" he asked as he came up beside him. It had to be close to three in the morning.

"I could ask you the same question," the older wizard said, his sharp brown eyes flicking across him.

Draco gestured into the room, where he could just see a head of blonde hair. "Keeping her company."

Willoughby nodded. "I see"—he paused, then clapped Draco on the shoulder—"you did good work, Draco."

Draco blinked in surprise, then nodded his head in gratitude, schooling his features. "Thank you, sir."

"And for the record, I'm glad that everything got sorted." He smiled tiredly at him. "I knew it wasn't you."

Draco nodded his head a second time, not quite sure if he trusted his voice. The older wizard yawned, covering it with his hand, then smiled at him, the wrinkles on his face creasing happily.

"I'm going to go home before something else goes wrong," he told him. "Have a good night."

"Thank you, sir," Draco responded, feeling a little dazed. "You as well."

With a bemused expression on his face, he walked into Weasley's recovery room, wondering if Luna had heard the exchange and had an opinion on it. As he moved past the curtain he found her sound asleep, however, curled up in her chair like a cat.

He felt an ache in his heart. What was it about Luna that made him, well, love her (for lack of a better term) but only in a way befitting for a sister? What had she done to him? And why, he wondered, not for the first time, did that not bother him in the slightest?

Draco turned his attention to the other sleeping woman in the room, and felt a reaction as well, though this one was entirely different. This one did bother him, though he had gotten so used to it over the past decade and a half that he didn't think much of it anymore.

He sighed and walked over to the closet and took down a spare blanket, returning to Luna and draping it over her. He proceeded to carefully tuck it around her shoulders and feet, smiling slightly as he did so. He didn't think he would ever understand how she could just close her eyes and sleep near anywhere. He certainly couldn't.

"Malfoy?" Weasley asked groggily, and he turned to look at her, a thrill going through him as her brown eyes met his grey ones.

"Weasley," he said softly in return, as though worried his voice would startle her away.

"I thought you were supposed to make the pain go away," she said softly, her voice rough.

Draco finished tucking in Luna and turned to her, pulling his wand as he did so. Automatically he checked her vitals.

"It was worse before," he told her, smirking at her slightly, glancing at the runes and relaxing as he realized that everything looked okay so far.

"I remember." She glanced about the room, her eyes lingering on Luna. "What are you doing here?"

"I just got off work and was just checking in on her," he told her. "You've… been asleep for a while, and it's her turn to sit with you. She usually takes the night shift, and I don't think she's been sleeping much during the day." He paused. "But there's always been someone here with you." Myself included, he thought. For, despite his good intentions, he was having a hard time staying away from her—which was new and unprecedented. Usually, he could put a wall up and forget all things Weasley, even if she was in the hospital, but it wasn't working this time. He usually found himself in her room reading a book while Luna busied herself with a sketchbook and some markers. Today he had spent far too long in his lab, trying to avoid this very scenario, so he felt exhausted as well as annoyed for showing up once more.

Weasley nodded. "How long?" she croaked.

"Almost five days," he said softly, glancing at the door. "I need to tell them that you're awake."

"Malfoy," she said, her left hand coming out from under the blanket, reaching for him. He stared at her, then her hand, before carefully taking it into his own. It was warm and soft and calloused, and almost tiny in comparison. Her fingers curled around the sides of his, gripping it with a surprising strength, given what she had been through.

"Thank you. For everything."

"No worries, Weasley," he told her, squeezing her hand gently, trying to ignore the sudden pounding of his heart. "No worries at all."

Their eyes locked, and Draco felt like the world was dropping away around them. He didn't want to look away, he didn't want to move, ever again. He just wanted her to keep looking at him like that, like she actually saw him. He didn't want to go back to the way things were. But they had to. For her sake. So he forced himself to look at their hands, feeling like he had just walked away from the sun and returned to darkness.

"I'll go tell the nurses that you're awake," he told her, squeezing her hand once more. She nodded, her eyes sliding shut, and he carefully put her hand back beside her on the bed. He glanced back when he had reached the door, but she didn't open her eyes again.

Feeling a peculiar weight in his chest, he headed out into the hall, informing the Head Nurse that she was awake. A flurry of activity followed, and Draco found himself slowly walking back towards the room, trailing after nurses and Healer Edward Chafe.

He hesitated outside, wondering if it was appropriate for him to go back in, but then he saw that Luna was still asleep somehow and took a step in. The lot of them had pulled the curtains back, and as they fussed her eyes met his and smiled slightly at him. He felt the will to keep away from her drain out of him, and he went and sat beside Luna, hating himself for his weakness.

Once everyone had left, Weasley glanced at the still sleeping Luna before fixing her eyes on his.

"I thought you said you were working," she said quietly.

"I was," he replied with a frown.

"Then why aren't you in Healer robes like everyone else?"

He stared at her, wondering why this, of all things, was standing out to her. "I was in my lab," he said finally. "Though I could have changed for all you know."

She nodded her head, closing her eyes briefly. "What do you do in you lab?"

"Research that you will never find out about," he replied automatically.

Weasley snorted softly. "Bloody Slytherin." She opened her eyes, then bit weakly at her lip. "Did they catch them?"

Draco nodded his head. "They didn't take the whole operation down, but they caught who took you."

"Who was it?"

Draco hesitated, uncertain if he should be the one to tell her. Yet as she looked at him, exhaustion and something else in her eyes he sighed; how could he deny her anything she asked of him? "Dark Rising took responsibility, but it was Marcus Flint who was using the Polyjuice Potion."

She nodded her head, rolling her head away from him. "I didn't think I was going to make it," she said softly, so softly he found himself leaning forward to hear her better. "I thought that when I hit the ground that was going to be the end of it."

"But it wasn't."

"No," she said, her voice tense. "It wasn't."

She was silent for so long that Draco started leaning back, assuming that she had fallen asleep.

"The first time I opened my eyes I thought I was seeing you," she said suddenly, her voice choked.

Draco felt a pang of unease go through him.

"He didn't… hurt you, did he Weasley?"

She turned and looked at him, tears swimming in her eyes, and, not for the first time that week, felt like someone had gut-punched him.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "It just wasn't you." She took a shaky breath. "Every other time I've gotten hurt lately I wake up to see you, and then I know everything's going to be okay. And for a moment I thought everything was, but then it wasn't you."

She closed her eyes and wiped clumsily and ineffectually at the tears that were now running down her face. She opened them again and focused on something across the room. "And I didn't have my wand. All I wanted was my damned wand, then I knew everything would be different. But I couldn't have even used it if I'd had it." More tears rolled down her cheeks and Draco reached over and placed a box of tissues beside her.

"Thanks," she said wetly, pulling a few out. She glanced at him briefly, her brown eyes red and puffy, before burying her face in the white cotton. "Where did you go?" she asked him, her voice muffled.

"I'm still here," he said carefully, frowning at her. Did she have brain trauma? Everything had looked clear on the scans, which was amazing considering what the rest of her body had been through.

"I mean, where did you go after your trial?" she said, raising her head and looking at him. "You—Flint—said that when you came back to England that—well, he just never said where you went."

"He probably didn't know," he said with an uncomfortable shrug. He shifted subconsciously in his seat, glancing at Luna, who was still asleep somehow.

No one knew what had happened, not really at least—except for Potter, but that had been unavoidable, given the circumstances. He had never spoken about it with anyone and he avoided thinking about it, though there was a constant reminder if he cared to look at his arm. Now, as he stared at her, he felt the story on the tip of his tongue. As though it was for her that the secret had been waiting inside his chest for the past decade. And he was shocked by how much he wanted to tell her. She had confided in him, didn't he need to return the confidence? Though admittedly she had been right stoned at the time…

"You don't have to tell me," she said softly, shaking her head. "I was just wondering."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pulling at it slightly.

"I ran away," he said finally.

"What?"

"I ran away," he said again. The words were easier this time.

"Why?" she asked. It was such an innocent question, with an answer that was anything but.

"Because I'm a coward," he said, hating himself as he glanced away from her, not wanting to see confirmation of his statement in her eyes. "I just… couldn't handle it anymore. When it was over I couldn't go home, couldn't bring myself to go back to that damned Manor. For those two years, I had wanted nothing more than to escape, and I finally could."

"Where did you go?" she asked softly after a moment's silence.

"America; California to be exact," he said with a shrug. "It was the first Portkey out of Europe."

Weasley stared at him, her eyes sad, though her tears were drying up.

"Then what happened?"

Draco hesitated. Was he really going to do this? She was the one person that he had never wanted to know. The one person who he wanted to think the best of him, to not know what kind of coward he truly was. But he was too weak to resist giving her what she wanted, even if it was a truth he had never uttered before. So instead of keeping it all to himself he opened his mouth and damned them both.

"I started drinking," he said slowly. "Among other things."

He dropped his hand to the sleeve of his left arm, and slowly began to unbutton the cuff, pulling up the fabric. She watched him, gasping as the angry red keloid scars were revealed on his forearm: his sorry attempt to cut the Dark Mark from his flesh. He pulled it back further, past the inside of his elbow, where more scars appeared, ruined veins and all.

He jumped as Weasley's fingers skimmed over the scars.

Something had gone wrong with them, and his sense of touch there was more pronounced than it had been before. He always felt it was a punishment for trying to deny what he actually was, had actually been. He had tried to get rid of the damned thing so he could forget it and move on with his life, but instead his arm was always uncomfortable, always making itself aware as his clothes moved against it. Now he couldn't even pretend that it wasn't there.

"For how long?" she whispered.

"About two years, on and off," he replied, keeping his eyes fixed on her fingers.

"But… then how did you get back here? How did you get to be a Healer?"

"I ended up in the hospital when I did this," he gestured towards his arm. "Someone recognized the Mark and called the Aurors. They thought I was a Death Eater in hiding." He smiled humourlessly. "Next thing I knew, Potter was there, and I was heading back to England, getting clean, and trying to get my life sorted. And the bastard had the audacity to help me with all of it. He's probably the only reason I got this job too."

The silence hung heavy in the air, and Draco finally looked up to find her staring at him, her expression curiously absent of emotions. It was more unsettling than any amount of disgust or pity could have been. Since when did she not wear her heart on her sleeve?

"For being such a coward you still managed to come and rescue me, right when I needed you."

He shook his head, bile rising in his throat.

"If I'd had the choice I would have been happy to leave the job to the Aurors," he said, looking away again.

His eyes settled on Luna, who was still sleeping soundly. The hair hanging in front of her face was moving slightly as she breathed, and he absently reached out and pushed it behind her ear.

"I was ready to fight my way back into the OR if I needed to—to help you—but nothing beyond that." He hesitated. "I only acted selfishly. If I hadn't I would have lost the ability to do my job and Luna wouldn't have been the same if something had happened to you… and the thought of that…," he trailed off, shrugging, keeping his eyes on their mutual friend.

The silence was broken by a bark of laughter, then a groan of pain. Draco's head shot up and he looked at her in surprise.

"You know, I'm beginning to think that you're the ridiculous one, not me," she said, smiling lopsidedly at him.

Draco stared back at her, flabbergasted. Here he was admitting to her that he wasn't the hero she deserved, and she was _smiling_ at him? And it was a genuine smile too, one that lit up her whole face and her eyes, even if her mouth wasn't able to spread as widely as it could. It was an expression that he had seen on her countless times before, but she had never directed it at him before. He felt a profound ache in his chest, one he couldn't interpret the meaning of, and he was at a complete loss as to what to do. So he just tried to focus on keeping his expression neutral.

"You're not disgusted by my answer?"

"How could I be?" she asked. "You walked into danger to rescue someone you don't even like so that your friend wouldn't be sad and so that you could keep helping people." She smirked at him around her scabbed-over lip. "Besides, you're a Slytherin. We can't expect miracles from you now can we?" She stifled a yawn. "I think I'm going to fall back asleep, though."

"Sleep well," he managed to say, watching as she closed her eyes. It didn't take long until her breathing had evened out.

He glanced over at Luna and jumped slightly. She was staring at him, wide awake, but she hadn't moved from her curled up position. By the smile on her face, he had a feeling she had been awake the whole time, and he frowned at her slightly, wondering if his Slytherin roots weren't rubbing off on her.

He felt something tighten around his heart as he realized what she would have heard everything. But it occurred to him then that Luna probably would have put it all together—or at least some version of it—before. She had seen him in short sleeves, she knew what his left arm looked like. And now that he thought about it, she had never asked about it. Not because she was being polite, but because she didn't need to.

Still, he felt exposed, raw. He shouldn't have opened his mouth. Neither of them needed to hear any of that. That was his burden to bear, his shame.

Luna's hand came out and gripped his left forearm, just bellow where the scars began, as though she knew exactly where they were even when she couldn't see them. He stared down at her slim, paint-stained fingers, then finally looked up at her face.

She smiled at him, not her usual dreamy smile, but a reassuring one. One that seemed far too poignant and present to be from Luna, and yet, there it was on her face.

"Thanks," he said softly, turning back to look at Weasley, the pressure of Luna's hand anchoring him and making it all a little easier to endure.

-o-

 **A/N:** Well, this chapter got a little long and out of hand. Sorry? I'm sure I could prune it down a bit more, but my summer is counting down at an alarming pace and I want to be free! I apologize for any rambling you may have had to endure. Anyhoo, I would love to hear your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4 - Cannonballs

Title: Somewhere I Belong

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

 **A/N:** Well, the next chapter and a half were originally three chapters that I've compressed down for the sake of readability. The end result is a little on the long side, but I've been assured you like long chapters. ;)

Disclaimer: I claim nothing to be my own, other than this ever so slightly original plot.

 **Somewhere I Belong**

 **Chapter 4**

 **Cannonballs**

-o-

Ginny's eyes were fixed on the front steps that led up to her building's entrance. They were thankfully absent of Malfoys, imposters or otherwise, and she wondered how long it would be before she could round the corner and not feel on edge.

She had a sinking suspicion that it wouldn't be until her arm was in proper order and she was able to use a wand again. Which, thanks to the car and the Dark Rising, would be about two months longer than it had been previously. In the meantime, she constantly felt like she needed to look over her shoulder, even with Harry walking beside her.

"You okay, Gin?" Harry asked, pulling her from her thoughts as they walked towards the steps. She turned and smiled at him, her eyes flicking over his messy hair, round framed glasses, and Auror issue Muggle clothes. They were all so familiar and alien at the same time.

"Yah," she said, nodding her head. "Just tired."

"Understandable," he said, smiling slightly.

Ginny continued to smile back at him, distractedly trying to quell the nervousness in her chest.

"We've got Aurors under cloak outside the building at all times," he told her, as though he could sense her unease. "We've also increased the strength of your wards, and put a limit on your Floo. I put the list on your fridge, and you just have to add the names of the people you want to be able to use it." Ginny nodded her head, wondering if that was another of Hermione's brilliant ideas. "We've also limited Apparation, so people will have to use the alley or something. You're the only one who can get in or out that way."

"Fat lot of good that will do me right now," she grumbled as they began to make their way up the stairs towards the entrance. She automatically handed Harry the keys without comment.

"I know," he said, grimacing at her as he unlocked the door. "But when you're better, it will be." He held it open for her, following in after her. "Anyone wanting to visit who's not on the list will have to check in with one of the Aurors to get to your door. You'll know they're approved when they use the day's special knock, which will be owled to you each morning."

"You guys really have thought of everything, haven't you?" she asked dryly as they got onto the elevator. She hit the number seven, watching him through the mirrored surface of the door.

"Don't be like that, Gin," Harry said. "We all just want you to be safe and to get better. You really scared us."

"I know," Ginny said with a sigh, her shoulders slouching. She glanced down on the sling her arm was bound up in. She tried to move her fingers, but they were stiff and barely responded. "I was scared too. If Malfoy hadn't—" She cut off abruptly as Harry's face darkened.

The fact that Malfoy had been the one to rescue her had not been popular with anyone, except Luna. The added fact that she had accepted a dinner date from someone she had _thought_ was Malfoy didn't help improve matters, especially with Harry. Ron, along with most of the Wizarding world (if the papers were anything to go by), were convinced they had been seeing each other on the sly for months. It would have been a preposterous notion to her if she hadn't originally been willing to give the whole concept a go in the first place.

"Be careful with him, Gin," Harry said seriously as the elevator doors opened. She stepped out into the hallway, faint howling meows already reaching her ears. "He's still a Malfoy."

Ginny turned and looked at him, the doors sliding shut behind them.

"I don't think that means as much as it used to," she told him softly. "Luna wouldn't be friends with him if it did. And besides, I thought you helped him get back on his feet."

"He told you that?"

She nodded her head. "I accidentally told him about… well, you know," she said, dropping her eyes as his expression tightened like it always did. It was a topic they never spoke about, which just seemed to make it worse when it came up. "And I think he was trying to even it out."

"How very Slytherin of him," Harry said bitterly as he gestured for her to lead the way to her door.

"Right?" she said, forcing a smile and pushing her sadness aside. All that was in the past and had been for quite some time. That was where it needed to stay. "But I will be careful, Harry. I just want to get better and get back on my broom. I don't want anyone or anything getting in the way of that."

As they got closer to her door the sound of Orton's howls got louder, and her sadness shifted to something akin to homesickness.

"Does he always do that?" Harry asked, a bemused expression on his face.

"Yah."

Harry unlocked the door and pulled it open, stooping down quickly and catching Orton as he made to bolt from the suite. His reflexes still surprised her sometimes, but then she was distracted as he lifted the cat up under his front legs, and held him out to her, a grin on his face. "I think he missed you."

"Hi, Orton," she said, as she stepped forward and bent slightly to look her cat in the eye. He meowed loudly at her. She scratched behind his ear and he leant forward and rubbed his face against hers. As he purred loudly she felt contentment flow through her. "I missed you too."

After a few moments, she glanced up at Harry, smiling softly, though it was more a carry-over smile for her cat.

"Do you want to come in?"

"I've got to head back to the office," he said, shaking his head. "We're still trying to get through everything we've found out from the Dark Rising members we captured. Getting ready for a trial is turning out to be a nightmare."

Ginny nodded, feeling a guilty sense of relief. While she and Harry got on quite well, all things considered, she didn't make a point of spending much time alone with him. Things had a tendency to get rather awkward when they did. There were the things they never talked about always looming over their heads until she either felt like she couldn't breathe or she wanted to start screaming and never stop—sometimes both at the same time.

Harry handed Orton to her, making sure she had her good arm wrapped soundly around his pudgy belly. A little too pudgy, she realized. She was going to have to talk to George about that. She stepped into her flat, turning to look at her Ex once more, expecting his goodbye.

But Harry hesitated a moment.

"You're going to have to be at the trial, Gin," he finally told her, glancing away. "I tried to get you out of it, but the best I can do is have you be a witness. You won't have to stay for the trial itself, just give your statement and leave when the rest of the witnesses are done. They won't cross-examine you."

"Oh," Ginny said, feeling nothing and everything at the same time. "When?"

"I'm not sure," he told her, running a hand through his hair and messing it up more than usual. "In a week or so? I'll make sure you get as much notice as possible. They're just going to want to hear your side of events."

Ginny nodded, though she didn't know what use she would be as everything was a blur when she looked back on it. She remembered being in pain, and being scared, but she had slept through most of it—though she did poignantly remember the startling relief she felt when she had thought Malfoy was there, and how horrible it had been when she realized that it wasn't him at all. In her mind's eye, she could still clearly see how wrong he had looked, how his face was expressive and twisted, and how his mannerisms had been all wrong. He was a completely different person in her mind, just like the real Malfoy and his father: while they both looked alike, they were two completely different people to her, and always had been.

The part she remembered best was when then the real Malfoy had arrived, all calm motions and neutral face but with eyes that had belied a panicky fear and concern that shook her to her core. Sometimes she found her mind wandering through the memories of him carrying her, his cologne strong in her nose, lulling her into a place of safety where she felt like nothing could harm her.

Realizing where her thoughts were taking her, Ginny slightly shook her head, feeling her cheeks heat up.

"Okay," she finally said. "Thank you, Harry."

"You don't have to thank me, Gin," he said, shaking his head. "Ever."

He smiled at her in his usual awkward way (the way that always used to make her knees weak when she was much younger), then walked back towards the elevator, his hands in his pockets.

She watched him go, feeling loss wash over her. She didn't miss him, she realized. She hadn't missed him in a very long time. And it was odd to think that she could have been so wrapped up in someone at one point in her life, only for him to mean very little to her later on—well, that wasn't accurate. She still cared about him, but it just wasn't the same. Now he was just her brother's best friend again. And it made her wonder, not for the first time, what would have happened if she hadn't lost—

Ginny closed the door, the sound of it thumping into place disrupting her thoughts quite effectively. She put Orton down, then went about setting the locks, the click of each one making her feel more and more relieved until she felt like she could finally breathe properly again.

-o-

Draco Apparated back home, glancing around his foyer. The familiar modern lines and colours greeted his eyes, and he felt himself relax as he was assured by their consistency. He took off his cloak and flicked the light on. All he wanted to do was eat something and collapse down on the couch and stare vacantly at the telly for a while. It had just been one of those days.

"Draco?" his mother called from the main room, and he spun about to find her walking towards him.

"Mother," he said, trying to make himself seem more alert. Other than Luna, she was the only one who could Apparate or Floo in, and sometimes he regretted that fact. He tossed his cloak onto the bench by the door, ignoring her scowl.

Instead, he stepped forward, embracing her carefully. It still surprised him how petite she felt when he hugged her. She had always seemed larger to him when he had been a child, but now she was small and boney. He knew that he had just gotten taller and wider, but in moments like this the dichotomy threw him off.

"What brings you by?" he asked as he stepped away. His eyes flicked over her, taking in hair that was more white than blonde and the lines, which had begun to appear on her face during the war, that had become permanent.

"I was just leaving you a note," she told him. "This afternoon I got an owl from the lawyers about your father's release."

Draco stiffened. He had forgotten that was coming up—or rather, he had forced it from his mind so thoroughly that it felt like he had forgotten. But the ten years was coming to an end, and Lucius Malfoy would no longer be kept in a cell in Azkaban.

"He should be home at the end of November," his mother continued, as though she was speaking about the weather.

"How do you feel about this?" he asked, ignoring her last statement.

"You're beginning to sound like a Hufflepuff, Draco," she said. "It doesn't suit you."

"Side-effect of working in a hospital," he replied, trying to ignore the barb. It wasn't the first, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. Malfoys weren't supposed to do actual work, even in the New World. He knew the only reason she humoured him was because she was terrified that he would leave again if she said anything. He wondered if his father would be as cowed. "But I am serious."

"I am looking forward to having my husband back home," she replied stiffly.

And you're terrified, Draco thought to himself, but he didn't push her. He didn't like talking about his father either. In fact, most days he liked to pretend he was dead. "Would you like some tea?" he asked instead.

"No, thank you," she said as she collected her cloak and gloves. "I have to be going." She paused in doing up the clasps on her cloak. "Unless there's something you want to tell me before I read it in the paper."

Draco tried to keep the grimace off his face, but he didn't think he quite managed it.

"Mother, how many times do I have to tell you, there hadn't been any time to tell you anything."

"You told Luna."

"She was involved!"

"Just like the Weasley girl?" she asked, a slight sneer on her face. He was reminded so profoundly of seeing himself in the underground that he had to look away. "What is really going on between the two of you?"

"Nothing," Draco said, his muscles tensing. He felt like a spring being compressed down. "As I told you. It's no more plausible than their constant declarations that Luna and I are a couple."

"Hmm," his mother agreed. "And yet, in that situation, there is at least some relationship to speak of. Why would they blackmail you if you have nothing to do with her? And better yet, why would you waste all that money and put yourself in harm's way if there wasn't something in it for you?"

"There was something in it for me," he snapped. His mother raised an eyebrow in question. "My reputation and career were on the line; I had to do something. In case you haven't realized it, but the Malfoy name isn't worth shite these days. If anything had happened to her and I could have done something to stop it and didn't, they'd have thrown me in a cell next to Father without a second thought."

"But there had to have been something there for them to get the idea," his mother persisted, and Draco felt anger surge through him.

"Why?" he demanded. "And why does it matter? So what if they used Weasley to get to me? Better her than Luna!" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he felt his stomach churn violently. The sensation only increased at his mother's satisfied look.

"Yes," she replied, nodding her head. "I suppose you are correct." She tugged on her gloves then leant forward and kissed him on the cheek. "And honestly, Draco, do you need to be dressed like a Muggle all the time? I know it's in vogue right now, but you don't have to go along with it."

Draco looked down on the dark blue suit and suppressed a scowl. It was one of his favourites. Sometimes he just wanted to tell her where he went after the trials, just to see the expression on her face. Especially when he told her in detail that he had not only dressed like a Muggle then, but had lived and ate and slept with them as well.

"I work with the public," he replied instead. "I have to keep up appearances."

"If you say so," she replied, shaking her head and pulling out her wand. "Have a good night, Draco."

"You too, Mother," he said.

He watched as she Disapperated, his breathing becoming ragged as soon as she was gone.

He knew that she loved him, and that she only wanted the best for him, but she just didn't get it. He didn't think that she ever had. She had done everything she could to protect him when he was a child and teen, yet she had still been complacent in his upbringing. She had still allowed and encouraged him to become what he was, and for that he could never forgive her. And it just made moments like this even harder.

"Fuck!"

His foot lashed out and hit the wastepaper basket, sending it crashing to the ground and sending litter everywhere with an almost satisfying clatter.

"Fuck," he said again, the gusto draining out of him.

He stepped over to the bench and dropped down onto it, looking dejectedly at the mess. He knew he should clean it, but he found he couldn't bring himself to move, let alone to care. Instead, he just sat there staring vacantly at the space between it and himself.

-o-

Ginny woke with a start, glancing blearily around her flat. She had fallen asleep on the couch, the Harpies' game still playing softly across the Wireless. Hermione had been by with the kids earlier in the day, and it had apparently worn her out more than she had thought. From the sounds of it, she had slept through most of the game.

"Ah-ah-wooo!" Orton called from the hallway, and Ginny realized that someone must have knocked.

A series of taps echoed through the room, confirming her thought, and she slowly untangled herself from her throw blanket. Wandering over to the door she wondered who it could be, as everyone who usually visited her used the Floo. She peered through the peephole and her heart thudded against her chest in panic before the rational part of her brain caught up with her. It didn't leave her feeling any less unsettled, though.

Biting her lip, she debated her options. She could just pretend she wasn't home…

"Weasley, I know you're just standing there," the man on the other side of the door said.

So much for that plan.

"How do I know it's really you?" she asked, hating the slight shrillness in her voice.

"When I showed you my arm you touched it."

Feeling her muscles relax ever so slightly, Ginny glanced down at her clothes: an overlarge, shapeless jumper and tight fitting yoga trousers. It wasn't something she would ever wear out of the house, but it wasn't like she had expected any guests other than her family and close friends.

After a moment of indecisiveness, she reached down and awkwardly picked up Orton before unlocking the door and pulling it open. Malfoy stood there, cool as anything, a plastic bag hanging from his left hand.

"Hi," he said pleasantly enough, though his face was in its usual neutral position.

Ginny found herself staring, unable to look away. The last time she had seen him had been when she had woken up from her five day sleep, and he'd looked tired and rumpled. Now, however, he looked incredibly put together: hair that roguishly fell across his forehead, a blue well-fitting three piece suit, and expensive looking leather shoes. In short, he looked more handsome than he had any right to be, making her feel like she had just rolled out of bed—which, she supposed, she kind of had. She was tempted to just close the door and forget she had ever been insane enough to open it in the first place.

Orton meowed loudly, and they both looked down at the cat squirming in her arm, trying valiantly to escape.

"You have a cat," he pointed out.

"How very astute of you," she said dryly, suddenly feeling on more even ground. She looked up at him and frowned. "Why are you here, Malfoy? And better yet, how do you know where here is?"

"Luna told me your address," he told her. "I hope I got the knock right."

"No one's used it yet," she replied automatically, her mind beginning to race. This was not acceptable. She didn't care if Luna considered him her friend or not; he wasn't _her_ friend, even if he had saved her life. Though, as she stared at him, she couldn't help but notice that she wasn't as upset by his presence as she rightly should be. "So I suppose it worked."

"Evidently," he drawled.

"And the why of it?" she repeated, focusing wholly on him once more. She'd deal with Luna later.

"I heard you weren't leaving your flat anytime soon," he said casually. "So I thought I'd make good on my declaration but bring the dinner to you, rather than try and take you to the dinner." He raised the bag in his hand slightly, looking her over. "You are back to your usual charming self, are you not?"

"I didn't think you'd actually been serious," she said, ignoring his last question. She was horrified to feel heat creep up her face at his scrutiny, feeling desperately underdressed despite her assertion that she didn't care what he thought. Why did he have to look so put together?

"I'm always serious, Weasley"—he paused—"except when I'm not. But apparently, that wasn't one of those times." He smirked slightly. "So what'd you say?" He held the bag up, swinging it slightly, his smirk spreading. "It's Indian. I've been told it's your favourite."

Ginny's eyes locked with the bag, and she felt her mouth water. It was true, she did love Indian food…

Her first inclination was to refuse, but she paused, wondering about that. Was it because it was Malfoy, or because of what Flint had done? She had accepted the invitation of a date when she had thought Flint had been Malfoy, so why should that be different now? It wasn't fair to damn him for something someone else had done with his face, just as he had said in the tunnel. If she was okay with the idea of it then, the consequences notwithstanding, then why should now be any different? In fact, shouldn't she be more inclined towards him, since he had rescued her? And the food did smell really good…

Damnit, Ginny, she hissed at herself. Your stomach is _not_ a good moral compass!

"Fine," she said finally, pushing the door open further with her good shoulder, Orton meowing now in his desperation to be free. "But only because it's curry."

"I didn't realize you were that easy," he said, arching an eyebrow but not moving.

"Yah, well, my standards seem to be pretty low. I agreed to a date with you, didn't I?"

"Touché, Weasley."

He walked past her, the scent of his cologne wafting towards her. It was expensive and spicy, exactly as she remembered it being. She always had been a sucker for a good smelling man…

She felt her cheeks heat up and tried desperately to get ahold of her thoughts as she closed and locked the door before putting Orton down. He limped towards Malfoy, who was carefully toeing off his shoes, before he paused then rubbed up against the man's leg, causing the blond to look down with a frown. Then the cat continued to limp on through to the living room.

"What's wrong with your cat?" he asked, glancing between the grey hair on his trousers and Orton's usual pathetic display.

"He's missing a back leg," she told him, smiling despite herself. "But don't let him fool you: you're new so he's putting on a show for you to get your sympathy. He's just as capable and mischievous as any other cat I've ever met. Perhaps more so."

"What happened to him?"

"Not sure," she replied, shrugging. "He came like that."

Malfoy opened his mouth, frowning at her, then closed it smartly. Instead, he glanced around her hallway before returning his attention to her. His eyes slid over her, lingering on her arm. She suppressed a shiver and the urge to cross her arm across her chest. It felt like he could see right through her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice softer than before.

"About as well as can be expected," she replied, trying to shrug away her sudden discomfort. She wasn't quite sure why, but she felt very unnerved by his being here. Then it occurred to her that they had never socialized outside of the hospital, or what had happened a couple weeks ago. And now he was here. In her flat. Staring at her. "It hurts," she continued, trying to distract herself from the awkwardness she felt. "And I'm getting really tired of all the potions I have to take. I'm not one to laze around all day."

"But that's what you're supposed to do on forced vacation," he told her, smirking faintly.

"Yah," she said, unenthused. "So I've heard." She turned her face away from him. "Do you want to eat in the kitchen or sitting room?"

"Whichever," he replied indifferently.

"Sitting room it is," Ginny said, moving past him towards the kitchen. At least that way if the game ended she could turn on the telly and have something to distract herself with. Why had opening the door seemed like such a good idea? She glanced over at her small wine rack as she entered the room. Wine would make this easier, wouldn't it?

"Er, do you want some wine?" she called over her shoulder. "I can't, because of all the potions, but you could."

"I don't drink," he told her, his voice startlingly close. She turned slightly to find him following her into the kitchen. He looked so very out of place surrounded by the cozy yellow and cream decor.

"Sorry," she blurted, feeling her cheeks heat up as she remembered exactly why he wouldn't.

"It's all right," he said with a shrug, looking around. His eyes lingered on the micro-whatever-thingy.

Ginny watched him then turned away, trying to calm her nerves as she began to carefully pull out plates and cutlery. What, in Merlin's name, was she doing? Why had she invited him in? And better yet, why was he even here? He didn't like her. He always avoided her. Flint had been the one interested, not him. And yet, he was here…

She finally stopped when she realized everything was piled onto the counter. She had somehow even managed to fill two glasses with water without realizing it. She glanced over at him, only to find him watching her with a slight frown on his face.

"This is awkward," he told her, and she blinked in surprise. "I shouldn't have come here. It was inappropriate of me."

"I'm actually kind of glad you're here," she said before she could stop herself, realizing as she said it that it was the truth. She still wasn't convinced that Luna was to be forgiven just yet, though.

He raised an eyebrow.

"I really haven't left my flat since I left the hospital," she confessed, then frowned. "I haven't wanted to; except I had been meaning to come see you, to thank you properly. I just hadn't felt up to it." She hesitated, watching his face, but he didn't respond. "Though I guess I don't have to leave now at all. Officially, everyone has come to me."

"That's not something to brag about, Weasley," he said, his frown deepening. "It sounds like the beginnings of agoraphobia."

"You sound like Hermione," she said wrinkling her nose at him, feeling something within her relax.

He made an odd noise in the back of his throat. "Take that back."

"No," she said, laughing shortly and grabbing at her side as pain stabbed through her. "And don't make me laugh. It hurts."

"Good," he snapped. He strode forward and picked up the pile of crockery and cutlery from the counter, the bag swaying haphazardly from his hand. "You deserve as much for comparing me to Granger." He grabbed one of the glasses as well, glaring at her.

"She's a Weasley now," she pointed out, trying her hardest to get the grin off her face, but it wasn't working. "She married my brother."

"Even worse," he said. There was a slight sneer in his voice that for some reason caused hysterical laughter to bubble up inside her. He glared at her for a moment longer, as though he knew exactly what she was trying to suppress, then turned away from her. As he walked towards her sitting room she found her eyes lingering on his backside, slightly taken aback by how nice she found it.

"You know you can't hide in here forever, right?" he said over his shoulder, and she snapped her eyes up, the laughter dropping away, leaving something achey in her chest.

"I know," she said, her voice sounding thin even to her own ears. She picked up the remaining glass and followed him. "It's just until I can… use my wand again."

He stared at her, then nodded his head, setting the plates down on the coffee table. "Fair enough," he conceded, glancing around before sitting gracefully on the chesterfield.

Ginny hesitated for a moment then sat down beside him, as far away as she could politely sit.

 _"And Coulter has the Quaffle! Mattison dives to the left, but she misses! That's another ten points to the Magpies!"_ the announcer called across the Wireless.

"How are they doing?" Malfoy asked as he went about taking containers out of the bag, opening them, and putting food onto the plates.

"I'm not sure," she said, watching his hands. "I think I slept through most of the game so far."

"I woke you up?" he asked her, pausing in what he was doing to look at her. Despite his neutral expression, Ginny felt like this fact bothered him.

"Not hard to do," she replied, smiling slightly. For some reason, she didn't want him to feel badly, but she didn't try to analyze why. "I spend most of my time drifting in and out of sleep these days."

 _"Coulter passes to McConnell, then him to Singer! Singer throws the Quaffle—It's in! Another ten points to the Magpies!"_

He finally nodded at her, placing a plate and fork in front of her.

"Thanks," she said, picking it up and looking excitedly down at the food. Bloody hell, she really was easy, wasn't she? Then she paused. "Er, I didn't think this through properly," she said, putting the plate back down on the table. She shifted forward and sat down on the floor, picking up her fork. She glanced over her shoulder, and Malfoy was just smirking at her. "What?"

"Nothing," he said. Then to her utter surprise, he got up and joined her on the floor. His leg brushed up against hers as he sat cross-legged beside her, not moving it once he had settled. It was a gentle pressure, just enough to remind her that he was there.

"Lowering yourself to my level?" she asked, trying to distract herself from the point of contact. She didn't think he would be able to resist commenting if she shifted away.

"Well, when in Rome," he said with an elegant shrug.

"You're such an arse," she said, shaking her head.

"True story," he replied, looking a little too pleased with himself for some reason. He turned his attention to his own food, tearing up the naan, but she could tell that he was splitting his focus between it and her.

 _"Griffiths swerves between the Magpie Chasers! She looks unstoppable! She throws the Quaffle—but it's stopped by McGraw."_

Ginny turned and focused on the food, very conscious of the fact that he was beside her. She had never been very good at using her left hand to feed herself, and she felt hyper aware of that fact as she clumsily began to eat. Then the flavour distracted her from everything else.

"This is so good," she said before she could stop herself. She did, however, manage to not start shovelling it into her mouth like a starving woman. She had some idea of decorum. Most days.

"See, aren't you glad that you opened the door and accepted dinner?" he asked, casually placing the torn up naan onto her plate. She glanced down at it, feeling oddly emotional as she realized it was just the right size to fit into her mouth.

"The night's not over yet," she said, trying to distract herself. "I could still be hit by another car."

"You don't leave your flat," he pointed out, and she noticed that his eyes were doing that odd crinkling thing again. "There's no way you can be hit by a car."

"Obviously, you don't remember what my brother and Harry flew to Hogwarts in their second year," Ginny replied, raising her eyebrows. "And I have no idea what my father gets up to in his workshop these days."

"But your father's the Minister."

Ginny just shrugged, not wanting to tell him about how when her father had worked in the Muggle Artifacts department he had always put loopholes into the regulations. So instead she speared some food and a piece of naan onto her fork and just shoved it into her mouth.

He nodded, amusement flickering across his face before he turned to his own food and they lulled into silence, both listening to the game.

 _"McConnell has the Quaffle again! He's heading straight towards the Harpies' hoops. And, wow! What a hit! McConnell has lost control of the Quaffle thanks to a Bludger sent by Hartley!"_

"So," Malfoy began, clearing his throat, and drawing her attention away from the game. "How did I—I mean, he—persuade you to go out with me—him in the first place?"

Ginny paused in her attempt to chase rice around her plate with her fork, a little taken aback by his lack of eloquence. Then her mind began to process what he was asking, and she felt a blush creep up her face. Now that she knew he hadn't actually been the one to initiate something, she was reluctant to say that she would have agreed if he had. Somehow it seemed like a Weasley making the first move was giving up somehow.

"It's kind of embarrassing actually," Ginny said finally, eyes fixed on her plate. "He made a pretty pathetic display waiting for me on the front step"—she hesitated—"he said that he'd had a thing for me since school and that I'd scared him when I almost died… He practically begged me for a date. I didn't believe him at first—and obviously, I shouldn't have—but after a while I did." She paused, poking at her curry covered rice distractedly. "He claimed that he was my type because he was my hero, and I should have known then that something wasn't right."

"Yes," Malfoy said, sounding a little distant. "Quite ridiculous of you. I'm no hero; I'm a Slytherin."

 _"Wait!"_ the radio announcer cut across the Wireless, distracting them both. _"Slater is going into a dive! The Magpie's Seeker is following close on her heels!"_ Ginny turned her attention to the box, picturing the blonde woman she had come to call her friend diving through the air as gracefully as a Thestral. _"And she's got it! Slater's got the Snitch! The Harpies have won! One-forty to one-Seventy! That's the first time since Ginny Weasley's tragic season-ending fall last month! What a game!"_

There was cheering and the Harpies' anthem began playing in the background, and Ginny just stared at the box. There was a torrent of emotions roaring through her, and she wasn't even sure where to start interpreting them. She was happy that they had won, but at the same time…

"They seem to finally be getting on without you," Malfoy said, and Ginny turned to find him watching her.

"About time," she said, though as she said it she realized that she was a little worried. What if they didn't need her anymore? What if by the time she had healed properly they had moved on without her? She needed to be able to play. It was part of what made her feel alive these days. And she missed it, so badly.

She felt her eyes begin to water, and she looked away, blinking furiously. She would not cry in front of him again.

"You know, you'll be back on a broom soon enough," he said, the gentleness of his tone starling her urge to cry away.

Getting a grip on herself, she took a deep breath and turned to look at him once more. His expression was neutral as usual, but his eyes seemed softer than usual.

"Why are you really here, Malfoy?" The words slipped from her mouth before she could think about what she was saying or why.

He frowned slightly, his posture going slightly rigid before he shrugged. "You said yes to Flint," he replied. "And I'll admit I was… curious."

"What?" she sputtered.

"You said yes to him when you thought he was me," he told her patiently. "And I thought it might be a good opportunity for me since you're not that hard on the eyes, and sometimes I even find you mildly amusing. So I thought I'd come by and see if you'd say yes to the real thing." He smirked a little bit. "Seems my gamble paid off."

Ginny opened her mouth and then closed it again. She scowled.

"You're taking the mickey out of me, aren't you?" she said sullenly.

"For the most part, yah," he agreed amicably, his lips tugging up slightly at corners. Ginny felt her breath catch in her chest. He was grinning at her—sort of. It did the most bizarre things to his face; it made him seem almost, well, human.

"I'm being serious, Malfoy," she said, trying to distract herself from how her heart had begun to pound uncomfortably in her chest. "Why are you here? You've never been interested before."

The almost-grin slipped from his face, and Ginny felt a pang of loss go through her. But she needed to know, she reassured herself. She needed to know what his intentions were, what he was actually doing there. She needed to know what was reality and what was in her mind.

"To be honest, I'm not sure," he said, sitting back and picking up a napkin. He began to slowly and methodically wipe his hands. "I shouldn't be."

"What do you mean?"

He stared directly into her eyes, his expression neutral, giving nothing away, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

"You shouldn't be spending time with someone like me," he said finally.

"Don't you think that's up to me to decide?" she asked quietly.

"Maybe not," he replied, glancing away.

"Why not?"

"Because you invited me in. You should know better than that."

Ginny felt herself stiffen, her skin crawling as fear gripped at her.

"Are you going to hurt me, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice stronger than she felt, bracing herself for the truth. Her mind spun with what she should do if he was. What could she do? Fuck, she just wanted her wand. But she still had a hand with nails, and teeth and legs—and this time she hadn't been hit by a car.

He looked at her sharply, and the way he stiffened, how he set his shoulders, almost mollified her.

"Not on purpose, Weasley," he said quietly, looking at her intently. "Never on purpose."

"But you could," she said, her voice slightly flat.

"Only an idiot would tell you otherwise; that's simply the nature of relationships."

Ginny stared at him, her heart racing, though she felt herself relaxing. "Is that what you want?" she asked, surprising herself by how confident she sounded.

"I don't know," he said, looking away from her. "I shouldn't."

"Because I'm a Blood Traitor?"

"Of course not," he snapped, meeting her eyes. "My family is just as traitorous as yours is now." He ran a hand through his hair, sending it into disarray. "I don't deserve someone as wonderful as you in my life."

Ginny froze, her eyes searching his face. She could tell that he actually believed that. That—she didn't know what to think of this. How had such a proud and arrogant son of a bitch turned into this? Especially when the person he was addressing was a _Weasley?_ Then a smaller voice asked, he thought she was wonderful?

"You have Luna in your life," Ginny said softly.

"That's not the same," he said, shaking his head, looking more agitated than she had ever seen him. "She just wouldn't leave. Believe me, I tried my damnedest to be rid of her. But I didn't pursue her—she made the choice on her own."

"And you don't think that I'm capable of making that same decision for myself?" she asked him, narrowing her eyes. She hated when people doubted her ability to make her own decisions or be sure of her own mind. It had always been like this at home, especially after her first year. And Harry had never been any better. Somehow she couldn't handle it if Malfoy did this as well. "That somehow I don't have a concept of what's good for me, and from what I should stay away from? Because I can assure you, I have learnt my lessons about that the hard way."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, alarm flashing across his face. "I didn't mean—"

"I think I deserve enough respect to be able to judge that for myself," she continued, cutting him off. "I am a fully functioning adult, not some damsel in distress."

Malfoy stared at her, the tops of his cheeks turning pink. "Of course, you can," he said. "And I do—respect you that is. Very much so. I just—"

He cut off as the fireplace to their left burst to life. Ginny felt a thrill of fear go through her as she turned to see who was going to discover them. How the hell was she going to explain to her family why a Malfoy was sitting beside her on the floor of her own flat when she didn't even know the answer herself?

-o-

Draco stared back at Weasley, feeling horror and embarrassment rage through him. What had he been reduced to? A rambling and stuttering idiot who couldn't keep his mouth shut?

Honestly, what the hell was wrong with him? He wasn't even sure what he was doing there. He shouldn't be. Yet the idea had gotten into his head, and before he knew what was happening he was moving—an improvement on the previous catatonic state to be sure, but catatonia was still preferable to _this_ idiocy any day.

He finally turned his head towards the fireplace, dread washing over him in waves. And now he was going to be hexed within an inch of his life as whoever loved her climbed out of the fireplace and saw him. But as the woman straightened out he felt profound relief flow through him. Merlin, at least something went right today.

"Hi," Luna said, looking as oddly put together as usual, but not nearly as out of place as she looked in his flat. Her eyes widened slightly when they fell on them, then she smiled as she pulled her wand and absently vanished the soot she had accumulated. "I didn't realize you would be here, Draco. I'll come back later."

"No," Draco said, getting to his feet, ignoring the stiffness in his knees. "I'll go."

"Both of you sit down," Weasley said, shaking her head and struggling to her feet. Before he could stop himself he offered her his hand. He felt shock pulse through him as she took it, glaring up at him, and he let go as soon as she was standing. "I'll get you some tea, Luna."

"No, I'll get it," Luna said, stepping towards them both. Draco watched as Luna gave the redhead a careful hug, before giving him one as well. He kissed her cheek as she pulled back, suddenly overcome with how relieved he was that she was here and not someone else.

Luna smiled at both of them, then pulled something out of her pocket and waved her wand over it, causing both a tray and a strange bauble to return to normal size. "I brought you some brownies and a Trimpet to help you sleep."

"Thanks, Luna," Weasley said with a smile.

Luna smiled back at her, then wandered over to the kitchen, humming something Draco didn't recognize. Weasley sat down on the couch beside him, and, after a moment, he sat down as well.

"She makes you brownies?" Draco asked, eyeing the tray. "She never makes me brownies."

"That's because you don't ask, Draco," Luna called from the kitchen.

"I wasn't aware they were an option," he called back. Weasley snickered beside him, then groaned softly. He turned towards her, but she was grinning lopsidedly at him, holding her side. Their previous conversation was apparently on hold. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or anxious about that.

"How long have you known they were an option?" he asked, trying to distract himself from the feeling of impending doom.

"Years," she replied. "She made us some for the wedding party."

"Apparently, people were quite fond of them," Luna said serenely, wandering back into the room with an obscenely pink mug in one hand, and a white and gold one in the other. She placed the white one in front of him, and he glanced at it, only to feel something warm wash over him. It was coffee. "Though I suspect Ron ate most of them when we weren't looking."

"That would explain a few things," Weasley said with a grin, glancing at him as he picked up the mug, thanking Luna as he did so. "Isn't it a little late for coffee?"

"It's never too late for coffee," Draco said, shaking his head and taking a careful sip. Black, just as he liked it.

"Draco's one of those special people who can drink a whole pot and go to sleep right after," Luna said, smiling at him from the chair she had settled down on.

Weasley glanced at him, then shook her head, turning back to their mutual friend. "So Luna, how was your expedition? I keep forgetting to ask you."

With a thud of his heart, Draco realized that he had forgotten as well. How could he have? It had been almost two weeks since she had returned. Yet his mind had been so muddled with trying to forget about Weasley, that he had right forgotten.

"Oh, it was lovely," she said dreamily, not seeming the least bit putout by the fact neither of them had asked sooner. "I think I came very close to finding the long lost Melffino, but I didn't quite manage it. This other man kept getting in the way."

"Other man?" Draco asked, frowning in confusion as he put his mug down. Luna rarely talked about other people, let alone men. Weasley looked over at him, her expression mirroring what he felt.

"Yes, he was quite bothersome actually," she told them, shaking her head. "He was determined to be the first to photograph the Melffino."

"Wait. Someone else was looking for the Melferno?"

"The Melffino," she corrected him serenely.

"The—whatever," he said distractedly, waving his hand. "There was someone else looking with you? That you just ran into?"

"Yes," she replied. "And it wasn't the first time he's gotten in my way."

"This wasn't that photographer you were telling me about, was it?" Weasley asked, reaching for her glass of water.

"Oh, did I mention him before?" Luna asked, tilting her head to the side. "Sometimes I forget which of you I told what."

Draco scowled but decided not to comment. "So what did you do about him?" he asked her instead.

"He kept asking me to go for dinner with him," she said absently. "And eventually, I agreed. It was nice to have someone to compare notes with."

Draco nodded. This was the first time Luna had ever really told him about a date before. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. Weasley glanced at him, taking a sip of water from her glass. She seemed to be as surprised by this information as he was.

"And I think I now understand why people are so keen to find evening companions. The activities after dinner can be quite pleasant."

 _"What?"_ Draco demanded while Weasley choked on her water. She began to cough, spilling the water as she moved, a weird yelp of pain coming out of her after each one.

His head spinning, Draco absently took the glass from her hand and rubbed her back, his eyes fixed on the blonde woman who was looking curiously at both of them. After a moment he realized what he was doing and stopped, setting the glass on the table and firmly placing both hands on his knees where they couldn't get any more funny ideas.

"That's fantastic, Luna," Weasley finally croaked, when her coughs and subsequent yelps had subsided. "Absolutely fantastic!"

Draco didn't feel that way at all. If he was being honest with himself he was feeling a little queasy. The thought of Luna—his Luna—doing those kinds of things—of, well, acting like an adult actually—just wasn't right somehow. Luna was… childlike almost, in her approach to life, in the way she viewed the world. The idea that someone could have taken advantage of that, that someone could have _used_ his Luna…

"It was," Luna agreed, smiling her absentminded smile. "I was sad to part ways with him. But maybe next time…"

"There's going to be a next time?" Draco asked, trying not to scowl. Weasley glanced at him, an odd look on her face, but he ignored her.

"I think so," Luna replied. "I mentioned that I was going to the Forest of Dean next weekend to look for the Pinkleston, and he said that he might see me there."

"What does this man do, Loon?" he asked her, his scowl leeching onto his face despite his best efforts.

"Oh," Luna said, her eyes sparkling slightly. "He explores the world, looking for rare magical creatures." Draco's scowl deepened. "His grandfather was Newt Scamander."

"As in the author of that textbook?" Weasley asked.

"Yes," Luna replied, turning her large eyes on her. "Though I'm not holding that against him."

Ginny shook her head, glancing at him once more but this time with a smile on her lips. Draco stared back at her dumbly, feeling like he had just been kicked in the head.

Something jumped up between them on the couch, and Draco looked down to see her cat standing awkwardly on three legs, his stump twitching in the air.

"What the hell is your cat doing, Weasley?"

"Oh, his ear's itchy," she told him with a laugh. He watched as she gestured with her hand for the grey cat to come closer then she started scratching and his stump began to wildly swing, as though he himself was scratching his itchy spot. "Is that better?" she asked him after the stump stopped moving. He meowed at her, turned and hopped off the couch as though nothing had happened.

Weasley smiled fondly at the feline, and Draco felt something in his chest tighten. His eyes slid to Luna, who was once again watching them with an amused expression on her face.

"So tell me, what has been happening in your lives," Luna said, and the night sort of carried on from there in an awkwardly normal way.

Despite the awkwardness, however, Draco found himself enjoying the company. Weasley and Luna interacted in a much different fashion together than either of them did with him, which was interesting to see, though not entirely unexpected. Luna made the redhead smile easily and frequently, while the latter accepted everything the blonde had to say, no comment about the oddness most people wouldn't have been able to look past. He liked Weasley this way, all at ease and non-confrontational. Almost like she had been in the tunnels, but without being in pain. It had also helped that she had decided to share her brownies with both of them, and they had far surpassed his expectations.

However, the third yawn that Weasley barely managed to cover told both Draco and Luna that it was time to leave. A few cleaning charms and hugs later, Luna had Flooed away and Draco was in the hall putting his shoes back on.

"So what were you going to tell me before Luna showed up?" Weasley asked, peering down at him. She had her cat in her arm again, and the damned thing was glaring at him, tail twitching. "You know, the part about how you respect me and think I can decide things for myself?"

"Well, I do, and you can," he replied, resisting the urge to act on his nerves and run his hand through his hair. Now that the topic had resurfaced he really didn't want to engage with it. He got to his feet instead, looking down at her. Despite how short she was, she didn't seem small to him, even dressed as she was in the overlarge jumper with an "F" embroidered on it.

"You're stalling," she informed him.

He ran a hand through his hair before he could stop himself. "Flint wasn't completely acting out of the blue," he blurted before he could stop himself. "You did scare me when you almost died… and after they took you."

"Why?" she asked. He didn't want to answer her. He couldn't answer her. And yet, as had happened that night in the hospital, he could feel the truth on the tip of his tongue, and he felt panic lace through him. Fuck, why was he so weak?

"Because…" He took a deep breath and pulled at his hair. Bloody hell, he didn't want to do this. Why was he doing this? Why wasn't he just leaving? Yet he felt frozen, completely unable to move, let alone run away. "I do fancy you," slipped from his mouth. His heart thudded painfully against his chest, and he felt his cheeks begin to burn. What was it about her that just dragged all of the inside noises out?

To her credit, she hardly reacted, her eyes only widening slightly in surprise for a moment. Though her cheeks were turning red as well.

"So what are you going to do about it?" she asked him, and his mouth would have fallen open if he hadn't been clenching his jaw shut.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Don't answer my question with another question, it's rude," she said, frowning slightly.

He stared at her for a moment, wondering what he could do to get out of this. He'd already said far too much. Could he get away with Obliviating her? Erase these past few moments from her mind? Then run away and never see her again? Perhaps move to Canada? They were always looking for Healers…

Except as he looked down at her, at her large brown eyes, her heart-shaped face and perfect lips, he knew he couldn't. Not after being so close. Not after she had let him into her flat, accepted him, and looked expectantly up at him as she was. And he wasn't as horrified as he should have been when he just sort of gave up.

"Well," he said slowly. "Since you probably won't let me take you out of your flat, I could come by with food again. Though you really shouldn't let me." Despite his panic, he cursed at himself for giving her the option to rescind.

"I thought we agreed that I can make decisions for myself," she snapped. Then her expression softened and she nodded her head. "But that is acceptable."

Again, Draco felt like he had been gut-punched, but for an entirely different reason. This had to be some sort of joke. She couldn't possibly be serious. And yet, as he stared at her, he got the distinct impression that it truly was acceptable to her. Again he wondered if she had suffered brain trauma. She must have if she was agreeing to voluntarily be in his company. Yet something in him felt odd, like excitement and horror and something else all mixed in together, and he felt himself relax despite everything else.

"Don't look at me like that," she said, an odd smile on her lips. "I said yes once already, didn't I?"

"Then I suppose I might just have to come by," he managed to say. "Surprisingly, you weren't terrible company."

"Wish I could say the same," she said, though her lips were twitching. His eyes locked onto them.

"Don't lie, Weasley," he drawled, forcing himself to move towards the door before he did something really stupid. "You've never had such a fun time."

"It would be a pretty pathetic life if that were true," she replied, smiling softly at him. "It was a good thing that Luna showed up when she did; she salvaged the whole night."

"Ouch," he said, unlocking the door and pulling it open, stepping out into the hall.

"Thank you for feeding me, Malfoy," she said, and Draco turned to face her, feeling a thrill go through him when he realized just how closely they were standing.

"It was my pleasure, Weasley," he said. His hand moved before he could think better of it, and he tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. She surprised him by not flinching away. "Have a good night."

"You too," she said, absently biting her bottom lip. His eyes dropped down to them once more, but he step back, and, turning on the spot, Apparated away.

-o-

 **A/N:** Yay. Awkwardness! School's starting in a couple of weeks, so updates might slow down a bit. While everything is written the editing is taking longer than I anticipated. I won't give up on this thing though, so rest assured. Just be a little patient with me please. :) As always, I look forward to, and appreciate, everything you have to say to me. :D


	5. Chapter 5 - Ghosts

Title: Somewhere I Belong

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

 **A/N:** Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but I'm done poking at it. Let me know if it's horrible though, and I'll go back in and stab at it or something…

Disclaimer: I claim nothing to be my own, other than this ever so slightly original plot.

 **Somewhere I Belong**

 **Chapter 5**

 **Ghosts**

-o-

Ginny sat in the front row of the courtroom, twisting her fingers in her lap, watching as Luna gave the most absent-minded description of what had happened that she had ever heard. Her friend kept pausing and looking at the ceiling, her eyes tracing patterns in the air, before smiling absently at the courtroom while continuing to speak. Ginny was getting the impression that the court was only listening as a formality; they had to at least pretend to make an effort to listen to one of the key witnesses, even if the subsequent description was rather, well, useless.

Ginny's own eyes wandered around. The courtroom was packed with members of the Wizengamot, her family and teammates, the press, various members of the Ministry, and who knew who else. If she had known there would be this many people in the room with her, she would have locked herself in her flat and refused to come out. If it hadn't been for George sitting beside her, and her mum and Ron directly behind her, Ginny didn't think she would be able to sit there without giving into the feeling that something was creeping up behind her.

She glanced at Neville, who was sitting beside the empty seat to her left, and he smiled his awkward smile when he noticed her looking. She smiled back, pressing her lips together tightly; the two of them had navigated Luna's personality together back in Hogwarts, and she had to look away before she started giggling. She knew exactly what he was thinking. So she shifted her gaze to the front of the room, where her dad, Hermione, and Harry were sitting near the Judge, looking confused, exasperated, and amused respectively. She felt that kind of summarized people's reactions to Luna in general.

Ginny continued to scan the room until her eyes found an oddly sparse area in the stands. She felt a little jolt of anger as she realized that Malfoy was sitting in the middle of it beside another finely dressed man, whom she assumed to be his lawyer. Malfoy looked over at her, as though he could sense her stare, and while his expression stayed neutral, he inclined his head at her. She found herself smiling awkwardly back at him, feeling something flutter in her stomach.

He had been by twice since the first time, the last time being the night before, and she was becoming alarmed by how much she was beginning to enjoy his company. Despite all reason, he made her laugh, made her think, and made her feel like he gave damn about her as an individual, that she was more than a just title or a role—which was something her life sadly lacked. Very few people ever concerned themselves with Ginny Weasley full stop. It was always Ginny Weasley, Ex of Harry Potter; Ginny Weasley, former member of the DA; Ginny Weasley, Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. And yet, somehow Malfoy did.

She glanced over at Harry once more and felt an odd pang of dread. She knew that out of everyone she could have picked as her next whatever-he-was, Malfoy should have been the very last option, if only for Harry's sake. And yet… she was tired of living her life around Harry's. It was what had ruled her teen years, it was what had ruled their marriage, and even after, it had always influenced her decisions. But no more. Now she made decisions for herself, put herself first.

Yet even as she came to this reassuring conclusion she felt uneasy. She knew it was something that most people in her life wouldn't like, let alone understand. Especially Harry himself.

"Thank you, Miss Lovegood," Padma Patil, the legal representative for the Ministry, said, waving for her to return to her seat.

Ginny was jarred from her thoughts, feeling fear wash over her. She didn't know what order this was all supposed to happen in, but she had a horrible feeling that she was next. Luna got to her feet and wandered back to her seat beside Ginny. She smiled at her, and Ginny smiled back, feeling her stomach clench.

"Miss Ginevra Weasley, could you please go to the witness chair," the Judge called, and Ginny felt her stomach plummet as she realized she had been right.

She glanced at George, who smiled encouragingly at her, and got to her feet. He rose with her, surprising her, and offered her his arm. She took it, feeling a surge of affection for her brother as she let him help her down to the plushly padded chair in the centre of the room.

"It'll be over soon, sis," he whispered in her ear once she was settled. He kissed her on the forehead then returned to his seat. Ginny watched him go, sitting stiffly, feeling tears prick her eyes. She blinked them away, glancing at Malfoy, who was watching her impassively.

She didn't know why she was so weepy these days. She had never been like this. Not even after Fred… But now it was like every little thing made her want to start crying and never stop. And the worst part was, the feeling was tempting. Like crying would be one of the most wonderful states she could occupy.

"Miss Weasley," Padma said, drawing her attention back to her. "Can you please describe the events leading up to your abduction." Ginny's eyes darted to hers, and the other woman smiled at her briefly in an encouraging fashion.

Ginny took a deep breath, glancing around at the faces staring down at her. Her eyes locked with Luna, and she took a breath. She could do this. She was just telling Luna what had happened. Luna's smile became more encouraging, as though the blonde knew exactly what she was thinking. And with that she began, as briefly as she could, to retell the whole embarrassing affair.

"And why did you trust Mister Malfoy even though you felt uneasy?" Padma asked.

"In the past five years he hasn't given me any reason not to," she said, avoiding looking at him, though she could feel his pale gaze. "So I just ignored the warning in my head and agreed—but to the real Malfoy by accident."

"And what was your relationship with Mister Malfoy at this point?"

"He was my healer," she said evenly, keeping her eyes on Luna. "We had no relationship beyond those encounters in St Mungo's."

"Even though you are both friends with Luna Lovegood?"

"Yes," Ginny replied. "She doesn't mix her friends together."

Padma nodded, and Ginny realized that the older girl would at least have some idea of what Luna was like. They had been in the same house, hadn't they?

"And do you have any idea why Dark Rising would take you and blackmail him?"

Ginny focused on her and shook her head. "No, I do not."

"And one last question, Miss Weasley." Ginny nodded. "How has this incident affected you?"

Ginny felt a wave of fatigue wash over her. She had been expecting something like this. And yet, she didn't want to say anything. She didn't want to voice what she felt was a weakness. She was Ginny Weasley, she was invincible. But as she attempted to move her arm she knew that wasn't true. As she tried to take a deep breath and pain laced her side she knew that she was just as human as everyone else in the room. As any other girl. And she knew she had to say something because even if Flint's case was guaranteed there were others who could be inspired by his actions. They needed to know what the repercussions were, for both sides. The aggressors needed to know what their victims felt. She had been silent after Tom, but she refused to be silent any longer, be damned her pride.

"Well, my recovery has been set back a couple of months," she told her, her eyes shifting to Luna once more. "I won't be able to play Quidditch this summer as planned and I won't be able to coach until after the holidays either. I love Quidditch, and I was really looking forward to playing for England again, if I had had the opportunity." There was a smattering of groans from the crowd, and she sent an apologetic look their way as she hesitated.

"But that's just the physical stuff… I'm… terrified of leaving my flat because I'm unable to use my wand. I can't sleep properly because I'm scared that I'm going to wake up and see him looming over me again. I feel like… I've lost months of my life. Before I just had to focus on getting better from my fall but now I have to reevaluate my ability to be safe outside of my home." She avoided looking at her family. "And I missed going on my vacation, which really really bummed me out."

There was some laughter from the crowds, which made her feel slightly better about her confession. Her heart was beating oddly against her chest, as though she had run a long distance.

"Do you have any further questions?" the Judge asked Padma.

"That is all, your Honour," she replied.

"You may return to your seat, Miss Weasley," the Judge said kindly.

Ginny nodded and carefully got to her feet. George was at her side, and soon she found herself back in her seat, George's arm carefully around her shoulders, Luna gripping her good hand, and her mother stroking her hair from behind her.

"Our next witness to the chair, Mister Draco Malfoy," the Judge said clearly.

Ginny turned to watch him as he rose from his seat and moved towards the centre of the room. Now that he was standing she could see that he was no longer wearing the muggle suits he seemed to favour, and instead had exchanged them for black robes that gave him a serious and intimidating air.

Ginny stared at them, trying to figure out why they stood out so starkly to her. Then she realized that it was because they no longer suited him. He wasn't that boy anymore, the one who had always dressed in robes of black, just like his father, because he didn't know how to be his own person; he was a man who wore greyed tones and subdued colours, and knew who he truly was, even if he didn't seem to like that person very much. For him to dress otherwise bothered her more than she thought it ever could have.

Ginny tried to make eye contact with him as he sat there, but he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead of himself. His posture was brutally rigid and his expression was completely closed off, as though he was just a shell of himself. Luna's grip on her hand increased, and she glanced over to find her friend with a small crease of worry between her eyebrows. Ginny looked back at Malfoy, feeling something in her own chest tighten. Luna was worried about him. Worried enough to not look like herself.

And then it clicked in her head: the last time Malfoy had sat in a room like this would have been at his own trial. Just before he had run away. Before he had tried to drink himself into oblivion… The clothes, the posture, it all made horrible sense now. He didn't want people to know what he had become, how vulnerable this situation made him feel. And he was doing it all for her.

Ginny gripped Luna's hand back, suddenly unsure of what all of this would mean.

"Would you please explain the events leading up to Miss Weasley's abduction, Mister Malfoy," Padma said, walking lazily across the floor in front of the chair.

In an almost clinical fashion, Malfoy began to do just that, and Ginny's heart hurt for what it must be costing him to do so. It was odd to her: a couple of weeks ago this speech would have evoked nothing more than an indifferent shrug because a Malfoy was sounding like a pompous arse as usual. Now, however, she felt her insides tightening up in knots. She idly wondered how his earlier life would seem to her now that she had gotten to know him a little better.

"And why did you take it upon yourself to act rather than go to the Aurors in response to the letter?" Padma asked, and Ginny noticed several people in the room nod along.

"There hadn't been time," he replied evenly. "As I said, I was only given twenty minutes."

"And why didn't you stop her when you had suspected something was off with her in the park?"

"I… thought it was some sort of joke," he said, and Ginny felt surprise spear through her. "I didn't want to find out what it was about."

"Has Miss Weasley played such a joke before?" Padma asked, glancing at her.

"No," he replied firmly.

"What was your relationship with Miss Weasley at this point?"

"She had been my patient," he told the former Ravenclaw.

"Was there anything beyond this?"

"No."

"If that was the case, then why do you think the Dark Rising would approach you and not her family to get her back?

Malfoy hesitated for the briefest of moments, as though carefully weighing his words. "I believe they took advantage of my position in society," he began. "They knew that the Weasley-Malfoy feud could be exploited, and hoped to ruin my reputation in the process. They played on my fear of losing what I had to get money from me."

"And you paid them a large sum, did you not?" Ginny felt stunned. He had paid money, as well as come down into the tunnels to get her? She looked around but Luna and Ron didn't seem surprised by this information. Most everyone else she saw looked as stunned as she felt. She turned back towards Malfoy, only to find his cheeks turning pink.

"Yes, I did," he replied tersely.

"How much?"

"I would rather not say."

"How much?" Padma insisted.

"One hundred thousand Galleons."

Ginny's mouth fell open, and she was vaguely aware of gasps and whispers from people around the room. That was so much money! Why hadn't anyone told her? Why had they kept that from her? And better yet, why would he even pay that? Even if he did fancy her, she truly couldn't be worth that much.

"And you just happened to have that kicking around your flat?"

"Objection, this is not relevant to the case," Malfoy's lawyer said firmly from his seat. Malfoy's face relaxed ever so slightly, though his expression was still as closed-off as before.

"Sustained," the Judge said.

Padma nodded, apologizing to the court, then turned to Malfoy once more.

"In the letter, they refer to her as _your_ blood traitor. Do you know why this is?"

Malfoy's jaw shifted slightly, the only indication that he was upset. Ginny wasn't sure how, but she could tell that he was. "I believe they were attempting to take advantage of the fact that I found Miss Weasley intriguing while we were in school together."

Again, there was another torrent of whispering amongst the crowd, and Ginny felt her cheeks heat up at the revelation. She could hear Ron muttering angrily behind her, and she dared not look at Harry. Instead, she glanced at Luna, who, while still frowning, was smiling faintly. This obviously wasn't news to her.

"Do you still?" Padma asked, reminding Ginny that she was indeed Pavarti's twin.

"That's not relevant to the case either," Malfoy's lawyer interjected once more.

Again Padma nodded and apologized.

"Had you had contact with anyone from Dark Rising prior to the incident?"

"No," Malfoy responded.

"Had you had contact with any former Death Eaters before the incident?" Malfoy visibly stiffened, as though he had been waiting for this attack. Luna's grip on her hand became almost painful.

"Objection," the lawyer snapped.

"Sustained," the Judge agreed. "Please keep your inquiries to this case, Ms Patil."

Padma's expression was a little strained this time when she apologized. Turning back to Malfoy once more, she narrowed her eyes.

"Did they tell you anything else during your interactions with them?"

"No," Malfoy replied shortly. "They just threatened my life and Miss Weasley's."

Padma nodded, then turned to the Judge. "I have no further questions, your Honour."

"You may return to your seat, Mister Malfoy," the Judge said. "Are there any more witnesses?" he asked as Malfoy moved at an even pace across the room. Someone responded in the negative. "All right, we will take a short recess, afterwards we will hear testimony from the accused."

Ginny glanced around. It was like a spell had broken: everyone around her was suddenly animated and alive, getting up from their seats or chatting with their neighbours.

The reporters were all standing on the fringes, waving at her and trying to catch her eye, but she ignored the lot of them, slowly getting to her feet. It wouldn't matter what she had to say anyway, they would just muddle it up until all of this was some slight against Harry or her father.

Her family began to swarm around her, but Luna, who was still holding her hand, leant in and whispered, "I'm going to see Draco. I will come see you tomorrow, okay?"

Ginny nodded, squeezing her hand. As Luna wandered off Ron took her place.

"Ready to go, Gin?" he asked her.

"Yah," she said, nodding her head, glancing over at Luna who had reached Malfoy. He stared blankly up at the blonde but seemed to relax as she sat down beside him. His expression bothered her for some reason, and she felt unease twist in her gut.

She turned back to her brother, only to find him and George watching her, and she felt a thrill of fear go through her. She wasn't ashamed of the time she was spending with Malfoy, but she wasn't comfortable with the idea of her brothers judging him and getting angry about it before it had a chance to become whatever it was going to become.

"Oh, honey," her mum said, suddenly gathering her into a careful hug before she could say anything. "You were so brave!"

"Thanks, Mum," she said, leaning gratefully against her, breathing in her familiar scent: like home and cooking and love all mixed into one.

"I still can't believe—" her mum cut off, shaking her head and pulled back. "Never mind that. It's over with, now you just have to get better. And maybe find a new job."

 _"Mum,"_ she said, an embarrassing whine in her voice. This was a favourite topic of her mother's, one that usually concluded with her mother wanting more grandchildren and Ginny getting upset with her.

"Molly," her father said, coming up behind her. "Time and place."

"I know," her mother said as she stepped back and her father took her place, wrapping her up in a hug. Like the twins, his hug was huge and all encompassing, surrounding her in the scent of stability and calm. Even though he was the Minister now he still smelt the same, still used the same cologne, even though he could afford better. "This all just threw me for a loop."

"It threw us all for a loop," her dad said, his voice rumbling in his chest. Then he said quietly into her ear, "You did good, Ginbug. I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks, Dad," she said into his chest. Tears pricked her eyes, as they were starting to do with alarming frequency, but she shoved them aside, smiling bravely as her father pulled away.

"You're taking her home?" he asked Ron, who nodded, and George added that he was as well.

"Everything will be alright now, honey," her mother said, giving her a second quick hug. "Just go home and get some rest." She pulled back, looking at her with a warm smile. "I'll be by in the next couple days."

Ginny nodded gratefully, covering a sudden yawn.

"Come on, Sis," Ron said, putting his heavy arm gently around her shoulders. She leant into him, feeling tiny in comparison to his 6'3 frame, as he began to lead her out of the room, with George following a step behind. As they passed, she waved and thanked the rest of her family and friends who had made the time to show up.

She glanced over at Malfoy one final time as they went, and she saw him bent slightly to the side so that he could listen to what Luna was telling him in his ear. He smirked when he saw her looking, and she offered him a tiny wave.

Then the three Weasley siblings moved out into the hallway, the door thumping heavily behind them, and suddenly it was quiet. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good job in there, Gin," Ron said after a moment, as they moved down the dark hall. He squeezed her good shoulder. "I'm… sorry that you had to go through all of that."

Ginny turned her head and looked up at him. She opened her mouth, but footsteps interrupted her.

They all turned to see who was entering the hallway, and Ginny recoiled against her brother as dark eyes met hers.

"Hello, Weasley," Flint said, leering at her. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Oi!" George snapped. "Don't talk to her!"

"What the hell, Maxwell!" Ron burst out, glaring at the Auror escorting Flint. "You were supposed to wait until after we came through!"

"Sorry," the young man said, looking abashed.

Ron tucked her behind him as the two of them passed, and George took a step forward to stand in front of her as well.

"If this was another place and time," Ron growled at the former Death Eater cum Dark Rising agent.

"Yah, yah," Flint said indifferently. "You'd have my head on a stick." He cackled then called over his shoulder, "See you around, _Ginevra._ "

Ginny repressed a shudder, wishing to never hear anyone say her name like that again, and allowed her brother to manhandle her down the hall and into the elevator.

"I'm really sorry about that, Gin," Ron told her contritely. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

"It's okay," Ginny told him, smiling bravely even though she felt completely cut loose and exposed. "It's not a big deal."

Ron nodded, but George didn't look convinced. However, he remained silent the whole way to the Apparation Point and the subsequent short trek to her building and up to her flat.

"I've got to get back to the trial," Ron told her as George busied himself in her kitchen making tea. He moved towards the fireplace, but paused, turning to face her once more.

"You don't need to be afraid, Gin," he said quietly, looking at her intently as his face began to turn red. "They're going to Azkaban." He glanced away. "And all you need to do is Floo or owl any of us, and we'll be there in a moment to go with you anywhere."

Ginny smiled weakly, crossing her arm over her chest and carefully grasping her bunk arm. But that was just it, she didn't want to have a bloody chaperone to go about living her life. It was bad enough that a house-elf came by to help her get bathed and dressed in the morning, and that her mother or Fleur kept popping over to help her clean her flat and restock her fridge—not that she didn't appreciate all of this, but she was used to doing all of these things on her own. She didn't want to have to depend on anyone for anything, and usually, she didn't. Now, however, she couldn't even walk out of her bloody flat without feeling like Death was walking right behind her, and she didn't want to admit to it by having someone with her at all times.

"Thanks, Ron," she said instead. How was she supposed to convey any of that to him? He had never been in her position before, and he loved being taken care of. "And I'll keep that in mind."

Ron nodded, then turned his head slightly. "I'll see you on Sunday," he called to George.

"Good!" George called back. "Don't be late!"

"I'm never late," Ron snapped, then he noticed her smirking at him. "Well, maybe every now and then."

"You can't fool us," she told him, placing her hand on his arm to balance herself so that she could kiss his cheek.

"I can try," Ron grumbled. Ginny hesitated, keeping her hand on his arm, suddenly unsure of herself.

"Ron," she said before she could think better of it. "Why didn't anyone tell me about the money?"

Her brother stared at her then glanced behind her. Ginny looked over her shoulder to see George standing in the doorway of the kitchen, listening as well. Finally, Ron sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"He asked us not to say anything," he said, his voice oddly bitter.

"Why not?"

"He didn't want you to feel obligated to him," he pretty much spat out. Ginny felt a thrill go through her, even as her brother began to scowl, shaking his head. "Load of dung if I ever heard it. I don't care what Harry says, the git's just as slimy as he was in school."

"Now, now, dear brother," George said. "Is that any way to speak of Ginny's hero?"

"When he happens to be a Malfoy, it is," Ron said, shaking his head and stepped out of her reach, heading towards the fireplace. He turned as he took some Floo Powder. "And you probably shouldn't be giving him googley eyes, Gin. You might give the git ideas."

"Get out of here, Ron," Ginny snapped, shaking her head, though a small smile was tugging at her lips. "I'll make googley eyes at whomever I wish."

Ron's ears turned red and he shook his head. "If only I knew you were joking," he told her, glancing at George before Flooing away.

Ginny stood there, staring at the fireplace, feeling oddly numb and agitated at the same time. She understood why Ron would be upset, given his history with Malfoy, and yet… he could never actually see what the reality was beyond his own grudges. Sighing, a wave a fatigue washing over her, she dropped down onto the couch. A moment later George placed a mug on the table in front of her and covered her with a blanket before sitting down beside her.

"You really should be careful with those eyes," he told her, and Ginny looked at him sharply only to find his expression serious and guarded. "Even I noticed them."

"You're much more observant than Ron though," she said before she could think better of it. She felt her face begin to heat up.

"This is true," George said with a nod. "So the statement still stands." He paused, glancing down as Orton hopped up between them on the couch with a meow. "And since we're on the topic, care to explain why the Ferret has been coming round your flat?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied automatically, her cheeks burning now.

George just shook his head, not looking deceived at all. "I was going to visit you yesterday, and saw him go into the building," he told her. "I was concerned, so I spoke to the Auror, and apparently he's been by three times now? There's no point in denying it."

"Er…" she said smartly, watching his face. "Reasons?"

"Care to share what some of them are," he said nonchalantly.

"I don't have to tell you anything," she groused.

"No, you don't," he said, as though her evasiveness wasn't bothering him. "But wouldn't you rather have one brother on your side?"

"You'd be on my side?" she asked in surprise, feeling her eyes go wide.

"Little Sister, you wound me," he said, feigning a hurt expression. "I'm always on your side."

"Yes, I suppose you are," she conceded after a moment.

"Right, which is why I'm your favourite brother."

"I didn't realize you were Percy."

"Ouch," George said, covering his heart. "Don't let Perc hear that, or you'll never be rid of him."

Ginny laughed shortly, automatically grabbing her side as pain laced through her.

"Why are you being so level about this?" Ginny asked, watching him.

George shrugged. "Whether I like it or not, the git's changed," he replied. "And he's helped me out a couple of times over the past few years."

"He has? Why haven't you said anything?"

"Because I'd rather people not know," George said evasively, and Ginny felt a stab of fear go through her. The twins had always been secretive, but they had shared with each other. Now it was just George, and that worried her. A lot. She knew Angelina was in the picture sometimes, but she didn't know if that was enough. "He hasn't said anything to you, has he?"

"Not a word," Ginny said, feeling a little breathless, her mind spinning with the possibilities. She watched as George's posture relaxed a little bit, and her anxiety only increased.

"There's nothing to worry about," he told her, grinning lopsidedly at her. "He just… helped me…."

"You don't need to tell me, George," she said softly, putting her good hand on his arm. "But if you ever need to talk about it, I'm here for you."

George stared at her for a moment, then nodded his head. "I know. And I appreciate it." He hesitated. "I've been doing a lot better. I'll explain why someday. I'm just… not ready right now."

Ginny nodded her head and shoved what she was feeling aside. If he said he was okay, then that was all she could do for the moment until she thought otherwise.

A few hours later, a knock at her door startled her awake. Orton was already howling, racing towards it, and she felt an odd pang of relief go through her.

When she pulled open the door it was to find a slightly rumpled looking Malfoy, who she knew was as exhausted as she was.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi, back," he replied, his eyes flicking across her. "You were sleeping."

"Nothing new," she told him, brushing aside his concern and opening the door further. "You're welcome to come in, though I don't think I'll be great company tonight."

"You say that like it's a novelty," he drawled. At her scowl his expression softened. "Better than sitting home alone, at any rate."

She glanced down at his hands. "Did you bring food?"

Malfoy silently held up a bag. The scent of Indian wafted towards her, and she smiled.

"You spoil me," she said as he walked past her, his cologne swirling around her as she closed the door behind him.

"It's sort of a Malfoy thing," he said offhandedly, glancing over at her with a smirk.

Ginny shook her head, leading the way into the kitchen where she began to take out the plates and cutlery. It wasn't nearly as awkward as the first time, which relieved her and made her feel a little strange.

She glanced up at him, realizing that he looked even more out of place than normal. If a Draco Malfoy in a suit looked odd standing there, it was nothing compared to a Draco Malfoy in excessively expensive dress robes in the same position.

"I miss your suits," she told him as she finished pulling out the crockery.

"Me too," he said, an odd expression on his face. He didn't say anything else though, just silently took what she had put out for him.

"I'll make some tea," she said, glancing at the kettle.

"Just don't over-steep it this time," he said, smirking at her.

"Well, don't distract me this time," she said, scrunching her face up at him.

His lips twitched, then he turned and headed out of the room. Her eyes once again lingered on his back. Somehow every time she saw him he seemed more attractive, as though the wrapping was beginning to reflect what was inside more and more as she got to know him.

And that was odd to think. She never would have thought that Malfoy could be anything more than a smarmy git, friendship with Luna notwithstanding. And yet, there was something more there, even if she hadn't quite been able to put a finger on what it was yet.

When she emerged from the kitchen, two mugs held precariously in her good hand, it was to see that Malfoy had already conjured cushions for the floor for them. She smiled, looking up to find him sitting on her chesterfield, glaring at Orton. Orton, for his part, was sitting on the table, staring back at him, his tail twitching.

"If you keep looking at him like that he's going to think you don't like him."

"Then he would know the truth," Malfoy told her, deepening his glare as if to make a point. Orton meowed angrily at him, to which Malfoy nodded his head sharply then turned and smirked at her. "For a cat, he's quite intelligent."

"And for a Healer, you're quite an arse," she replied as she placed the mugs down beside the feline and patted him on the head. She sat down beside Malfoy, realizing a moment too late that she was sitting closer than she ever had before; close enough to feel the heat coming off him.

"The two are not mutually exclusive," Malfoy said, completely oblivious, leaning forward and opening the takeout bag.

"One of these days you two are going to become best friends," she informed him, shooing Orton off the table in an attempt to ignore the blush that was creeping up to her cheeks.

"What gives you that idea?" he asked her snidely. "I hate cats."

"Yes, but you also used to hate Weasleys, and look at the two of us now."

"Are you saying that you think we're best friends?" he asked her, looking at her out of the corner of his eye as he began opening the containers.

"Er," she said, a little taken aback. "It's a little too soon for that, don't you think?" She hesitated. "I think we could be considered friends, though."

He stopped what he was doing and turned to look at her, his expression guarded. She felt like he was looking straight through her.

"I feel the same way," he said finally, and she felt relief go through her, quickly followed by disappointment. Was that all he thought they were? Had he changed his mind about his intentions? And why did that thought upset her so much?

"Though if it becomes friends with benefits I would be much obliged," he continued, a smirk spreading across his lips.

"Keep dreaming, Malfoy," she spat, though she felt a traitorous grin tug at her lips as her cheeks began to burn in earnest. Despite this, her disappointment flitted away as quickly as it had come.

"I intend to," he replied, his expression quite serious.

Ginny looked away and busied herself with sitting on the floor cushion he had provided her with. She heard him chuckle softly before moving to sit beside her, his knee once again lightly touching hers. Ginny's breath hitched at the contact, and she desperately tried to get ahold of herself.

"Why didn't you let anyone tell me about the money?" she asked quietly, the words popping out of her mouth in her desperation. She saw him stiffen out of the corner of her eye and felt a stab of guilt.

"I didn't want you to think differently of me," he said quietly.

"Because coming to my rescue wouldn't have done that?" she asked, her lips tugging into a grin.

"Well, I didn't want to make it worse."

He looked so serious and grave, and Ginny felt her lips twist in an attempt to not smile. But it was no use, and she burst out laughing, yelping and clutching her side right after.

"Why are you laughing at me?" he demanded after a moment.

Ginny blinked away tears, only to find his posture rigid.

"Why are you always so convinced I'm going to hate you?" she asked, sobering.

"Because you should hate me," he said. "It's only a matter of when you come to your senses and realize that."

"Well, I don't," she said shortly. "So get over it already." She impulsively reached out and took his hand. A thrill of sensation jolted up her arm, and the air seemed to be in desperately short supply.

They both looked down at their hands and after a moment she tightened her grip. He looked up at her, and Ginny's heart thudded painfully against her chest. "Thank you, Malfoy, for wasting your money on me."

"It wasn't wasted," he said evenly, his eyes searching hers.

Ginny shrugged her good shoulder, turning away from him, her eyes falling on the containers.

"I thought you were going to feed me."

"Is food all you ever think about?" he asked, his voice lighter than before.

She shot him a smirk and nodded her head. "It's definitely one of the top three things. You're lucky you're connecting your arrival with food, gives you better chances of survival."

He turned his hand under hers, enclosing it in his large grip, holding it gently. "I'll keep that in mind."

-o-

Draco stared blankly at the television. He was exhausted and felt as though he was as unentertaining as Weasley had claimed to be. Not that she had fared much better: she was curled up on the couch next to him, and her legs had slowly been pressing into the side of his more and more for the past little while. It was taking an alarming amount of energy to not respond to it. He kept having to think about less pleasant things. Like the trial.

The trial… well, he had survived. And yet… sitting in that chair again, even though it was lacking in chains and had been plushly padded, echoed back so strongly of where he had been ten years ago that he was surprised he hadn't collapsed into something truly pathetic. But he hadn't, and afterwards he had forced himself to stay for the rest of the trial: all through Flint's testimony and the others. It had made him ill, but he sat through it with single-minded determination, and Luna had sat right with him, her hand on his arm the whole time.

The Wizengamot hadn't come to a verdict yet, but it hadn't looked good for any of them. He planned to go to the courtroom again tomorrow, and the next day-however long it took. He needed to be assured that they were going to be locked up. That Weasley was safe. That they all were.

The program they had been watching came to an end, and he sat up slightly, stretching.

"Weasley," he said, turning tiredly to look at her, only to find her eyes closed and her breathing slow. Apparently, she hadn't been flirting with him with her touch as he had thought but had been falling asleep instead.

"You weren't kidding about not being much fun," he grumbled, not sure if he was disappointed or relieved. "You're not supposed to fall asleep on your guests."

Yet she didn't move, and he found he couldn't look away.

She seemed diminished somehow, ever since she had woken up in the hospital. She was missing some of her flame, as though Flint had taken a bit of her with him. He had been trying not think about it, as it made him furious and terrified at the same time, but as he spent more time with her it was becoming harder to ignore. He just hoped to Merlin that she got it back, for her own sake, not to mention his own. He didn't like the idea of being in a world where Ginevra Weasley wasn't constantly in the paper for causing some sort of scandal or other—even if it meant that he would no longer have her sitting around her flat for him to visit.

Taking a deep breath, he carefully extracted himself from the couch and picked up the blanket that was draped over the back. He wanted nothing more than to just lay down beside her and fall asleep as well, but he knew better than that.

So instead he carefully wrapped the blanket around the sleeping redhead. She shifted under it but didn't wake, and he absently brushed the hair off of her face, trying to commit her features to memory. His hand froze as his fingertips skimmed her skin. It felt like he'd been burnt.

Bloody hell, he was like a starving man every time he touched her. He was trying so hard to keep himself contained, to not gather her up and hold her close at any opportunity. But if he happened to brush up against her, bump into her—if they came into contact at all—he had trouble moving away. Anything she allowed him he took and relished until he was drunk with it.

It had been a while for him, longer than he really cared to contemplate. When he had returned from America and gotten clean there had been any number of willing witches, which he had contentedly taken advantage of. A distraction was a distraction. However, it became evident very quickly that they were usually only interested in his wealth or his Mark. The latter of which had frankly turned him off from the whole business, and what hadn't been tempered by shame and disgust his depression had dealt with the rest.

Now, however, he felt like his body was waking up, desperate to make up for lost time, but only with her.

Pulling his hand away, Draco turned and went through the motions of cleaning up and leaving her flat, escaping to the alley before Disapparating.

He reappeared in Luna's flat.

"Loon?" he called, toeing off his shoes before exiting the foyer and entering the main living area. She lived in a Muggle building, in a tiny one-bedroom apartment, that had been magically modified to be nearly ten times bigger. If a Muggle were to walk in they would only see the original flat, but Draco could see down the hall to the master bedroom, her office, her animal room, and then her studio, which took up the majority of the space in her flat.

"Loon?" he called again.

He could hear music coming from the studio, and he found himself smiling as he headed towards it.

He paused at the door and peered in, leaning against the doorframe. Luna was precariously perched on a stool, leaning forward while she attacked a large canvas with a brush. And "attack" was the only way to describe it. While she did everything else in her life with absentminded grace, she was ferocious and alive when she painted—or at least, when she painted her abstract work. The Wizarding portraits that most people on this side knew her for were created with the same energy as everything else in her life. She was using a blue-hued green, which was exploding across the surface, seeming to dance as though it was the aurora borealis through the night sky.

"Hi, Draco," she said without turning around. "What brings you round?"

"Just felt like popping by and saying hello," he said, walking into the room, and coming to stand a bit behind her shoulder. He knew not to stand too close, lest she hit him with her elbow or flying paint. He glanced at her face, noticing that she was already covered in a cornucopia of splatters. She must have been sitting there for a while already.

He carefully kissed the cleanest spot on her cheek then dropped down onto the squishy couch to the right of her. He sprawled like usual and tilted his head back against the cushions. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath. The scent of her studio was always constant: a hint of walnuts, oil paint, peppermint tea, and something uniquely Luna.

"Aren't you tired after sitting in that courtroom all day?" he asked the ceiling.

"I took a nap," she said. "But then I saw this in my head and had to get it out. It feels like you. Especially this green bit."

Draco lifted his head tiredly and stared at the painting, but couldn't see anything of himself in it, and told her as much. He looked at her again, only to find her tilting her head to the side, watching him.

"Sometimes I forget that the world just doesn't see what I do," she said, turning back to the painting, adding some black to her brush before applying it to the green, blending it seamlessly. "But that's alright. I see it for them."

"Do you often paint with people in mind?" Draco asked, not touching her last statement. Her existential comments were usually best left where they fell.

"Most days," she said, continuing to paint. "Sometimes it's you or Ginny. Sometimes it's members of the DA. Other times it's Daddy or the people in the news." She shrugged. "Just whoever happens to wander into my mind at the time."

"I never knew that," he told her honestly, wondering how many of her paintings were actually some odd Lunaesque reflection of him. He also wondered how many other people there were in the world who could interpret the paint strokes for what they actually were. He was both frightened and intrigued by the answer. The thought that there were more Lunas in the world was both a relief, because then his friend wasn't truly alone, and worrisome, because then she might actually be onto something most days, and that was a truly frightening prospect.

"I've never told you," she replied, putting a deep blue onto her brush without wiping the black and green mixture off. "And I doubt anyone can really tell what I'm painting. But it doesn't seem to hinder their enjoyment of them. They just like the colours."

It was true, they did. The colours, the balance, the movement within the painting. Despite being Muggle-safe, the whole work always seemed alive, vibrant, shining with an internal light—even if the colours of a particular painting were muted.

"And what are you painting?"

"Souls," Luna said simply, and Draco blinked.

He shifted his gaze from his friend to the canvas and looked at the slash of colours. Is that what his soul looked like to her? How did she know? And yet, even as he looked at it he realized that if that was what she saw, then that was what they looked like to her: her portraits were so photorealistic that he didn't doubt for a second she could paint what she saw.

Now, as Draco stared at the painting, he felt like he was seeing something completely different. That he was seeing something dancing across the canvas, rather than just colour. Was this what souls actually looked like? It seemed oddly at peace in the centre, more so as she added a bit of white to the mix, even amongst the angsty black around it.

He realized he was going to have to look at the other paintings in his flat and see if he could see these supposed souls in them as well. Were they his? Was he that narcissistic that he fell in love with paintings of himself without ever actually realizing it?

Draco shook his head, trying to clear it.

"Always?"

"Always," she replied simply. "Though not always human souls. Sometimes they're animals, or magical creatures. I tried to paint Tom Riddle's one time, but it was so fractured and broken that it made me sad, so I painted over it." She paused. "Ginny has that one in her bedroom. It didn't surprise me that she would fall in love with that one."

"Why?" Draco asked, frowning at her. Why would Weasley picking a painted-over painting of the Dark Lord's soul not be surprising?

"If she hasn't told you, then it's not my place to," Luna said, glancing over at him with the ghost of a sad smile on her lips. Draco felt a pang go through him, wondering what she was talking about, but knew better than to ask. It probably just had something to do with the what happened to her and her family, perhaps even Potter, during the war, but the way Luna smiled, made him wonder if it was something more.

"What did you paint over it?" Draco asked instead.

"Oh," Luna said, her expression cheering, her eyes distant as though she was travelling through the painting once more. "Ginny, when she's flying." Draco felt a shiver run through him. She had covered the Dark Lord with Ginny herself? "It's her favourite place in the world, being up in the sky with the wind in her hair and against her skin. She feels free up there. More so than she ever feels on the ground."

"She told you this?" he asked, feeling a bizarre pang of jealousy go through him.

"No," Luna replied, turning back to her painting. She stared at it for a moment, then took a rag and wiped off the excess paint from her brush before putting some purple on it and applying it to the bottom of the green and blue slash. "I can tell that it is, though. That's why her sitting around in her flat is making her miserable. She needs to fly to keep herself level."

"She will again," Draco said, feeling almost defensive as he said so.

"I know," Luna said, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his, startlingly clear and present. "You did a good job, Draco. You always do."

Draco smiled back at her awkwardly. He never liked hearing praise, especially about his work. It was something he did to help himself, he didn't deserve anything more because it was a selfish thing to do. Helping people was just the bonus. Though as he stared back at Luna he was almost certain she knew this. That her ability to perceive the world around her, and those in it, was much more pervasive than he ever gave her credit for. It was why she always seemed like she could see through lies, through facades—because she could. She could see to the core of people, then take that information and make hauntingly beautiful paintings of them. His best friend was more amazing than he had ever realized.

"If you go into the kitchen, there're some brownies sitting on the counter for you," she told him, turning back to her painting. "I had a feeling you were going to be stopping by."

Draco felt a shiver run through him. How much did she know? How much did she see? And how much of it did she just keep to herself? What did she do with all of it?

Draco mentally shook his head, frustrated with himself. This was his best friend, the most genuine person he had ever met. She wasn't some Slytherin with ulterior motives, she was just… different. And just because the facts about her had shifted, it didn't change who she was. Didn't make the history they had any less valid. It hadn't been revealed that she was manipulating him, or trying to change him. She just saw more than she ever let on.

She was still the first person to treat him like a human being again, the first person ever to actually give a damn about who he actually was, and not whatever it was people expected of him or assumed of him. She was still one of his greatest advocates, even if he didn't always approve of her methods or what she encouraged. She was still his Loon.

And really, the most amazing part was that if she actually did see as much as she claimed, she was still by his side, and he had no idea why.

"Wait," he said, something just occurring to him. "You're selling paintings of my soul?"

"None of the embarrassing ones," she replied absently.

"Well, that's a relief," he said dryly. Getting to his feet he stretched, intent on retrieving his brownies so he could nibble on them before he passed out on her couch, surrounded by the comforting smell of paint and Luna.

-o-

 **A/N:** I know, I know. Not much D/G interaction in here, but next chapter will make up for it, promise! … whenever I happen to get it edited, because I'm only into the second week of school and I'm so far behind already… why did five senior level classes, an honours thesis, and working two days a week seem like such a fantastic idea? lol!

Oh! And I will be/have posted a prequel of sorts for this story about how Draco and Luna first met. It's not necessary for the story, but it was one of those throwaway scenes that amused me. Hopefully it amuses you as well. :D


	6. Chapter 6 - Rainbow

Title: Somewhere I Belong

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

 **A/N:** I realized I made a bit of a mistake and left out a necessary conversation… So, before reading this chapter, if you wouldn't mind popping back to chapter 3, to the part where Ginny wakes up in the hospital (near the end), I added a small bit in there that has some relevance for later chapters. And here I thought I was so on the ball…

Disclaimer: I claim nothing to be my own, other than this ever so slightly original plot.

 **Somewhere I Belong**

 **Chapter 6**

 **Rainbow**

-o-

"So I'm assuming you're going to the Ministry's Halloween Gala tonight with Malfoy?" Ginny asked Luna as they walked through the halls of St Mungo's. She had just had her first checkup with her Healer Edward Chafe, and Luna had been kind enough to accompany her. She felt better now that Flint and his cohorts were in Azkaban (Harry had come over as soon as the trial had wrapped up), but she still didn't feel alright being alone—not that she would ever admit that to her family. Again.

"No," Luna replied, looking around the hall with an absentminded smile. "I'm going with Rolf."

"Won't Malfoy be upset?" Ginny asked, turning to look at her friend properly. "You always go together."

"He seemed quite happy, actually," Luna replied, smiling at her. "He's always been very kind going as my date, but I know he never enjoys it. He doesn't like the crowds."

"Oh," Ginny said, frowning.

She had never heard that before. It had seemed like he took those events very seriously. He had always been so attentive to Luna, so into the role of good date, that at first Ginny had thought the rumours had been true and they had actually been dating.

"This thing between you and Rolf is getting serious then?"

"I'm not sure if serious is the word," Luna said with a shrug. "But I am enjoying whatever it is." Luna turned her big blue eyes on her. "Are you enjoying your time with Draco?"

"Uh," Ginny said smartly, a little taken aback, though she wasn't sure why she was so surprised. This was Luna, after all. She was always very forward. About everything. "Yes, I guess so."

Luna nodded, smiling happily, then looked up at the ceiling as they neared the cafeteria, which someone was exiting.

"Oh," Luna said, tilting her head further back. "An Eveileb. I'll be right back, Ginny."

"Okay," Ginny said with a smile. This she was used to. Though she wasn't used to the sudden crawling of her skin as she realized it also meant she would be alone. "I'll just go queue up."

Her smile fading, Ginny walked into the large room, her eyes skimming over the scant amount of people scattered across the space. She felt a thrill go through her as a head of silvery blond hair caught her eye, and the crawling of her skin ebbed away. He was seated at a table near the window, overlooking the busy street bellow, a book in his hand as he ate. Without hesitation she walked over to his table, smiling to herself as she realized he was so engrossed he hadn't even noticed her.

"Do you ever do anything other than read?" she asked him.

"Hmm?" he asked, glancing up. He did a slight double-take when he saw her, his grey eyes lighting up, even though his expression remained neutral as usual. Ginny's heart skipped a beat. "Weasley, you're out of your flat!"

"I am," she said, smiling at him. "I had my checkup today."

"Why didn't you say something?" he asked, putting the book down and gesturing for her to sit across from him. "I would have met you."

Warmth ran through her and she distractedly tried to ignore the aftereffects, busing herself with sitting down.

"I wanted to surprise you," she said, making a face at him. "If I would have been able to find your lab."

Malfoy glanced around, ignoring her last statement. "Are you here by yourself?"

"Oh, no. Luna's around here somewhere. She got distracted by an Eveileb, so I told her I'd queue up."

"Ah yes," he said, an odd quirk to his lips. "They like the lights."

Ginny's eyebrows rose. "I like how you know that."

"I, unlike you, pay attention to what my best friend is interested in." The odd little quirk grew a bit. "Even if I haven't the faintest idea what she's talking about."

Ginny laughed, grabbing her side as she did so, not for the first time surprised by how easily she did that around him.

"So why're you in Healer robes?" she asked, eyeing his attire. "I thought Tuesday meant you're working on your _mysterious_ research."

"I had to change things around to take time off for Luna," he said with a shrug. "However, my lab students are hard at work as we speak."

"Why does that not surprise me," she said with a cheeky grin.

"I work smart, not hard, Weasley," he told her with a sniff. "If the hospital will provide me with minions then I am going to use them."

Ginny snorted. "And what exactly is it that you're all working on anyway?"

"As I've told you before, that's for me to know and for you to never find out," he replied, a smirk on his lips. "And"—he added quickly—"all of the people who work in my lab have signed contracts of silence."

"Why so much secrecy?" she asked, trying to mask her surprise. What on earth could he be doing? "Scared I'll change my mind about you if I find out?"

"Something like that," he said, an odd expression flitting across his face. "It's mostly because I don't think you'll be able to appreciate the gravity of my work, and I'll be disappointed in you."

Ginny shook her head and smacked his arm. "You prat," she said almost affectionately.

He smiled at her, and her breath caught in her throat. She had been expecting him to do it at some point—really he couldn't live his whole life and not smile—yet she hadn't expected this at all. It was such a different expression from the one Flint had made with that same face. Looking at it, she didn't know how she could have been fooled—well, other than not having seen the original before to compare it to.

"Don't do that," she told him without thinking, her eyes moving from the creases around his mouth to the crinkling of his eyelids.

"Do what?"

"Whatever it is you're doing with your face."

"Oh?" he asked her, his smile spreading. "Why's that?"

"It's distracting."

If possible the smile became even brighter.

"I thought you were upset because I didn't smile at you, Weasley."

"I didn't realize it was going to look quite like that…," she trailed off.

Ginny felt her pulse pick up, realizing that she was very glad that he had never actually smiled at her before. She didn't think she would have been able to stay away from him if he had; even in Hogwarts—and that just would have been all sorts of awkward.

He reached out and carefully took her hand in his and brought it slowly to his still smiling lips. Ginny watched him, trying to keep her breathing normal, but it was no use. As soon as his lips touched her skin it was like she had caught fire, every nerve in her body suddenly aware and alive.

"You found Ginny," Luna said from behind them, two teas in hand, and they both looked up, pulling their hands back to themselves.

Luna smiled serenely, sliding into the seat beside Ginny, putting one of the teas in front of her. Ginny thanked her, not sure if she should be relieved or upset by the interruption. It was a far cry from how angry she had been a couple weeks ago when Malfoy had first shown up at her door.

Malfoy and Luna exchanged pleasantries and Ginny glanced at the window, catching their reflections in the glass. She turned her focus to it, realizing that they made quite the trio: the two willowy blondes, and her.

"Weasley," Malfoy said a little louder than normal.

"What?" she asked, turning to look at him, only to find both him and Luna frowning at her. Had she been looking out the window for too long? "Er, sorry," she said, grabbing her tea and taking a sip in an automatic fashion, hardly tasting it. "I've been pretty tired lately, and the checkup didn't help."

"You look it," Malfoy told her, his eyes still lingering on her.

Ginny scowled and turned towards Luna. "So Luna," she said clearly, feeling slightly peevish. "Do you know what Malfoy spends his days researching when he's not healing people?"

Malfoy scowled at her in return while Luna looked amusedly between them, her blue eyes sparkling.

"Draco, why won't you tell her?"

"Because it's none of her business," he replied, crossing his arms.

"But she's already got a piece of it in her arm."

"My plate?" Ginny asked, rubbing absently at where she knew it was.

Luna nodded, and Ginny snorted at Malfoy's petulant expression.

"I don't understand," she said, taking another sip of her tea to try and hide her amusement.

"You're slow-witted today," Malfoy said, though there was a fondness in his tone. He took a sip of his coffee then shrugged as though he hadn't been keeping it all a secret since she had woken up after he had rescued her. "I'm focusing on how to integrate Muggle medical practices with our own."

"Oh," Ginny said, her eyes going wide. That had not been the answer she had been expecting. In fact, for some reason, she had something to do with snakes in her mind, though she had no idea why. Maybe because he was a Slytherin? "How long have you been doing that?"

"Since my Undergrad."

"He's figured out how to use the alloy in your arm and a bunch of their medications for more longterm aliments," Luna said, smiling proudly at the blond. "He's really quite good at it."

The look of appreciation Malfoy directed towards their mutual friend almost melted Ginny's heart.

"It's not as glamorous as Loon makes it sound," Malfoy said, his expression sliding back to its usual neutral state. "My staff is pretty limited, usually just a series of interns, so it's pretty slow work. For the most part, it's just trial and error, trying to figure out what will actually function within our bodies without disrupting the natural magic flow. That alloy took nearly two years to perfect." He brushed her arm with his fingers and an electric shock went through her.

"He uses a lot of his own money to fund it as well," Luna added softly.

"It's not a wildly popular idea," Malfoy said with a shrug. "Though the alloy is finally starting to gain ground. I've done a couple of lectures in France and the Netherlands about it in the past year."

"Wow," Ginny said. "Why aren't you focusing on that full time?"

"Because the ER is typically understaffed," he said, glancing at Luna.

"He enjoys it too much," Luna said quietly, and though Malfoy scowled at her, he didn't correct her.

Ginny frowned, but based on his expression she decided to keep her mouth shut and ask Luna about it afterwards.

"But I thought that Julian Gates created my alloy," she said. "Do you work with him as well?"

Malfoy looked away from her, his cheeks turning pink, and Luna shook her head.

"They're the same person," Luna whispered.

"What?"

Ginny thought back to it, picturing the awkward man in her mind, then looked at Malfoy. If she put gigantic glasses on him and changed his hair to brown, blunted his bone structure a bit…

"It really is you!" she sputtered. "You've been working with Hermione this whole time!"

"And she's none the wiser about it too," Malfoy said tersely. "I'd like it to stay that way."

"Why?"

"Because I highly doubt she wants to work in close quarters with someone like me."

Ginny opened her mouth, but at his pointed look, she closed it again. She wanted to tell him that he was of course wrong, but she had no way of actually knowing that. Hermione was a bit strange when it came to the year they spent looking for Horcruxes. Whatever had happened to her at the Malfoy Manor was never spoken about by any of them, but Ginny had pieced enough things together to know it hadn't been pleasant. She had no idea how that would translate to Malfoy, even if she was never openly hostile to the Malfoys like Ron was.

"I won't tell a soul," she said instead, wondering why she felt like crying when Malfoy nodded in gratitude before changing the topic.

-o-

Draco moved about the ER, his mind preoccupied as he checked on several of the patients who were in various stages of treatment.

Weasley knew about his research. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Only Luna knew, and his superiors obviously, but no one else. Not Potter, not Granger, and certainly not his mother. But now she knew, and it was like another strip of his skin had been pulled away. It wasn't bad enough that she knew about the money he had given away without thought to save her, but now she knew what made him feel best about himself as well?

How many more layers, secrets, would she be able to weasel out of him? How long until there was nothing left to hide behind? And then what? What happened when she inevitably left? And why, even though it was terrifying and unavoidable, was he not doing anything to prevent any of this? Was he that desperate to have anything at all with her that he was willing to sacrifice himself in the process? Was she worth that? He hardly knew her—the real, actual her, not the woman he had built up in his mind over half his life. How could she even compare to that? No one could.

And yet… and yet somehow she did, and he had no idea how or why. And apparently, he was willing to risk everything because of it.

Someone walked into the ER, and Draco turned gratefully towards them, happy to have something else to focus on.

"Greg," Draco said in surprise, feeling like he had been slapped in the face. "What are you doing here?"

Gregory Goyle looked at him sullenly, then glanced around. "Anyone else that can help me?"

"Nope," Draco said, trying to keep his expression neutral. He knew Greg still blamed him for much of what had happened in school—not that he blamed him entirely—it just wasn't pleasant to be forced to remember, especially in his place of work where he generally felt secure. "I'm you're only option right now."

"Fine," Greg bit out, holding up his hands, which were burnt and bleeding. Draco cringed inwardly, though outside he was unflappable. He'd learnt long ago not to react: it only encouraged panic if he did.

Draco caught the attention of one of the nurses, and after a quick exchange over supplies he led his former friend over to a bed, and helped him onto it, smiling benignly despite the death-glare he received for doing so. The nurse came back and rolled a little table over, upon which he had Greg place his hands, as the nurse bustled about placing supplies within his reach. Once this was done Draco nodded to her, and after a slight frown she left.

He knew she was already suspicious, two former Death Eaters interacting, but Draco had no intention of getting anyone else involved if he could help it. He knew exactly who Greg was working with, and the nursing staff didn't need to be anywhere near it. It was bad enough that he had gotten Weasley involved.

Draco worked in silence for a while, assessing the wounds. The scent of charred flesh and the acidic smell of singed fabric were heavy in the air, but Draco had long since grown accustomed to them. When he first started treating such things, the scent would trigger flashbacks to the Room of Requirement, when he had lost Crabbe. The flames and the smell, and that horrible smoke and heat… that final scream…

He shoved the thought aside and focused on his work. As usual, it offered a sufficient distraction as nothing else could. There were second and third-degree burns all over Greg's hands, and, after a few waves of his wand, he found that much of it was magically induced. It was going to be a painful and prolonged process to repair. He told Greg as much, but the man just grunted and shrugged, as though losing the ability to use his hands properly wasn't a huge deal.

"Must be difficult to come and accept help from the man you tried to frame," Draco said in response, now irritated despite himself. He knew he should shut his mouth, but the words had just come out. Maybe the inside noises-out condition he had around Weasley was spreading.

"It wasn't me," Greg said, shaking his head. He sounded defensive, and almost a bit, well, sorry wasn't the word. Regretful?

Greg glared at him, and finally, Draco sighed.

"What do you think you're doing, Greg?" he said as he went about cleaning the wounds. "I thought you were going to get out."

"Who says I'm not?"

Draco simply raised an eyebrow and stared at him. Greg's cheeks turned ruddy, and he just shook his head.

"You're such a fuck, Malfoy," he said finally. "Always did think you were better than the rest of us."

"An unfortunate side-effect of being raised a Malfoy," he said calmly, returning to his work, ignoring the other man's glare.

"For all the good it did ya," Greg said. "Ya know your name's dirt now, yah?"

"A reality I can't seem to escape, unfortunately," Draco replied, keeping his hands level. The older version of him would have hurt Greg on purpose in response. He refused to sink to such levels now, especially with someone like Gregory Goyle.

"Boo hoo," Greg sneered. "At least you have something. The rest of us can't work, we can't rent. Most of our money and stuff was taken away. And everyone's in jail."

Where they belong, Draco said to himself. However, not for the first time, Draco felt a pang of frustration. Yes, he and the Death Eaters had all done terrible things to society, yet at the same time, reminding them of it every moment of every day by excluding them from society wasn't the way to go about reconciling anything. All it did was create more tensions than already existed, and gave people more incentive to hate. And he had no doubt in his mind that Greg, Marcus, and the others hated those who ruled this New World with a passion unseen since the original fanaticism the Ministry was trying to prevent from ever happening again.

Nothing could be gained by insisting on having an other in society. As soon as you created a divide between us and them you removed some layer of the other's humanity. It had worked wonders for Voldemort. Though he supposed it wasn't entirely the Ministry's doing. They were trying to encourage people, if only half-heartedly, to include the lot of them back into society, but society wasn't having it. And thus groups like Dark Rising were not to be a surprise.

"Doesn't mean you need to prove them right," Draco said quietly, as he finished cleaning the wounds. He looked down and began to carefully assess the damage. "You can live your life for you, Greg."

"Fuck you, Malfoy." Greg hissed. Draco glanced up at him and sighed. The fury and stubbornness he saw on his former friend's face were more than even he could stomach. So instead he remained silent for the rest of the session, carefully doing his best with Greg's hands, not responding to any more of the insults that were thrown his way—of which there were many.

In the end Greg walked away with only minor nerve damage. Draco warned him about it, that he had to be careful because he would no longer be able to tell if he was in pain, and could hurt himself once more, but he doubted the other man paid much attention nor cared. At least he had gone to the front desk after to do the paperwork. Draco supposed it was the best outcome, all things considered.

As he filled out his own paperwork he ignored the suspicious looks he received from the nursing staff and other patients. He had been aware of them the whole time, but now he didn't have anything to distract himself with, and it felt like they were burning into his back.

Draco set his clipboard down and gritted his teeth, heading to the office Floo, intent on contacting Potter and feeling his mood tank further. The prospect of talking to him of all people was not particularly high on his priority list, but he knew better than not to make a report.

When he returned to the floor, he could already notice an influx of patients even though it was still early in the afternoon. People were always idiots around the holidays. Something to do with the mixture of family, good cheer, and alcohol.

"Hello, Malfoy," someone said from behind him, and Draco turned, feeling his stomach drop as his eyes fell on the last Weasley twin. He had been in a couple of times before, the last time with his girlfriend, the one who had played Quidditch in school, scared out of her wits, begging him to come back. Nasty business attempting suicide, as he personally knew all too well.  
"Weasley," Draco replied, nodding his head. His eyes travelled to the man's left shoulder, which he was covering with a bloodied shirt. He vaguely wondered what he'd done to deserve both Goyle and one of Weasley's brothers in the same day, but then remembered the mess of scars on his arm and gave it up as a bad job. "What did you do to yourself?"

"A bit of a lab explosion," the Weasley said with a shrug, then winced. "Figured I should come in before Ang saw me."

The redhead grimaced at the thought, and Draco glanced around, realizing with dread that he was the only one available to help him. He gestured towards an empty bed and helped the surprisingly muscled man onto it. The realization didn't make him feel any better.

"So, do you call Ginny by our last name as well?" the redhead inquired, as Draco pulled the shirt away revealing an assortment of glass bits and debris in his shoulder.

Draco looked up sharply, only to find an odd grin on the other man's face. To be frank, the grin scared him. The twins always had in school. They were unpredictable and cruel towards those they saw as enemies. Just thinking about Montague in the Vanishing Cabinet made him repress a shudder.

"I don't know why I wouldn't," he said evenly, putting the shirt aside and nodding to the nurse who brought over a cart full of supplies.

"Because the time you've been spending in her flat implies she's more than just another Weasley to you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco said shortly, his nervousness growing. Bloody hell, how did he know that?

"Don't lie, Malfoy," the Weasley said, his grin spreading. "I saw you go in there the day before the trial. I want to know what your intentions are with my sister." He straightened his posture. "This'll go much easier for you if you just tell the truth. I know you're not going in there for her cooking."

"She's never cooked for me—"

"Never let her," the redhead interjected pleasantly.

"—because I haven't been in there," Draco concluded.

"You're a terrible liar," the Weasley pointed out.

"Fooled the Dark Lord well enough," Draco groused.

"The guy was an idiot," the redhead said indifferently. "Honestly, he could have just tossed Harry out the window and been done with it, but instead he let himself be defeated by a one-year-old."

An odd noise escaped Draco's mouth before he could stop it. He wasn't sure if it was a laugh or a sound of surprise. He decided it was best not to think about it.

The redhead's face broke into a wide grin. "I'm just messing with you," he said, then clapped Draco on the shoulder causing him to jump, much to his chagrin. "Now answer the question."

"Which one?" he asked, trying to keep the disgruntled expression off of his face. He focused on the man's shoulder, trying not to acknowledge how much his hand shook as he waved his wand to raise the runes.

"Both, preferably."

Draco stared at the runes, weighing his options. He could just continue to deny having ever been near her outside of the hospital and those tunnels, but the twin supposedly had evidence to the contrary. He was being surprisingly non-hostile about it now, but Draco had a feeling that would change eventually if he continued to be obstinate. And really, the lot of them were going to find out eventually, if things carried forward as they were, so at least this way he had some semblance of control over the process.

"Yes, I call her Weasley," he said finally, waving his wand to bring up more runes.

"That must get really confusing," the redhead said amicably, wincing slightly as Draco poked at his shoulder. "Since you seem to call us all Weasley."

"It's generally not an issue, as she's usually the only Weasley around," Draco bit out. "Though I usually call your youngest brother Weasel King," he added before he could stop himself.

"I'm sure he loves that," the Weasley said, a wicked grin suddenly on his face that reminded him so forcefully of Wea—Ginny. This was a little ridiculous, wasn't it? Though perhaps it wasn't going to matter for much longer. He was becoming certain that this particular Weasley was going to kill him as soon as he fixed his shoulder. He suddenly longed for Goyle to return. At least from him, he knew what to expect.

"But what are you going to do when that changes?" the redhead continued. "Are we all going to get silly nicknames? Can I be the Holy One?" He gestured towards his missing ear.

Draco paused in his work and raised an eyebrow. "How is that going to change?"

"Because of that second question: what are your intentions with my sister? And don't think for one moment that if by some miracle something does happen between you two that you won't have to deal with us. Gin comes to nearly every birthday party and holiday celebration at the Burrow, so long as she's in town"—he paused—"there's a lot of them. And Mum would never stand for Ginny's beau not coming to the events, despite what the rest of us might say."

"There are an excessive amount of you," Draco said, giving up, distractedly noticing that the runes had faded with his distress.

"This is true," the Weasley said cheerfully. "And it's only going to get worse. We just found out that Percy's wife's pregnant again."

Draco nodded vaguely, wondering which one Percy was. Had he met that one before? He knew he didn't really care either way, but the prospect of more Weasleys was a much more frightening concept than it had ever been before.

"I'm going to have another 20 of these encounters, aren't I?"

"Four more," the other man replied nonchalantly. "Plus dad. The answer?"

Draco sighed, waving his wand once more so the runes reappeared.

"I won't intentionally hurt her if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm worried you're going to hurt her, full stop."

"Then you need to worry about everyone in her life."

"I already do," the redhead said darkly, and Draco nodded, feeling that along with shameful scars they had that in common as well.

-o-

Ginny became aware of people talking before she properly woke up. She blearily looked around, trying to figure out who was talking and at the same time try to figure out where she was. Then it clicked in her mind that she was lying at the foot of her bed, on top of the covers, right where she had settled herself while her mum had continued to clean her room. Obviously, she had dozed off.

She grimaced and got carefully to her feet, taking the throw blanket her mum had knitted for her a couple Christmases ago and wrapping it around her shoulders. She could tell that it was her mum talking to a man, but she couldn't figure out who. It didn't sound like any of her brothers.

"Mum," she called as she walked out of her room and headed into the kitchen. "Whose—Oh! Malfoy."

Ginny stopped short, feeling her cheeks begin to burn. She knew she must have looked a fright. And the worst part was he was staring at her, though to be fair, he was trying to make it not obvious.

"Er, hi," she managed, glancing over at her mum, who was watching both of them with an odd smile on her face. She felt her cheeks burn even more.

"Hi, back," Malfoy replied, a smirk spreading across his face, and Ginny knew with certainty she must look like a tomato. Why had her mother invited him in? And better yet, why did she not look upset about their apparent whatever this was? Were her and George in cahoots?

"I'll just, er, be a moment," she mumbled then fled back to her room, her heart pounding.

"Honestly, that girl," she heard her mum say fondly, but it didn't calm her at all.

She didn't know why she felt so unsettled right then. She had a feeling that it had something to do with her mother and Malfoy being civil to each other in her kitchen, but she knew it was more than that. She mulled over it as she yanked open a drawer from her dresser and pulled out the first clean jumper her hand fell on. With an odd jitteriness to her nerves, she slipped out of her arm brace and carefully pulled the jumper on, wincing as she jostled her side and arm in the process.

Ginny glanced in the mirror and straightened her hair as best she could, then headed over to the door of her room. Her heart was still beating oddly, as though she had run a long distance, but her breathing was mostly normal.

"Call me Draco," she heard him say, and her heart thudded painfully in her chest. What in Merlin's name was happening to her family? And Malfoy? Had they been the ones to hit their head and not her? Because she was fairly certain no Weasley should be getting along with a Malfoy, including herself, without first having suffered brain trauma.

"Draco," her mum replied, using the sweet tone Ginny knew was the one she employed when preparing to pump people for information. She hurried out of her room. "How often do you come by?" And there it was, lacking in all finesse, as usual.

"Mum, don't interrogate Malfoy," Ginny said, trying to look as though she hadn't hurried into the room.

They both turned to look at her, and she saw disappointment flash across Malfoy's face before his usual neutral mask fell into place.

"I wasn't doing anything of the sort," her mum replied before Ginny could start analyzing what the disappointment had meant. She scowled at her mother, who was looking slightly guilty. The older woman gestured towards her jumper. "I always liked this one."

"Me too," Ginny replied. Well, to be fair, she loved them all, but the purple she had used to embroider the "F" made her quite happy for some reason. She smiled back at her mother, though she felt sadness stab at her. She wondered if her mum felt the same way.

"So," Molly said sharply, looking pointedly away. "I'll be off then. Your fridge is full and I cleaned what I could."

"Thanks, mum," Ginny said, walking over and hugging the older woman as best she could. "I really appreciate everything."

"It was nothing, dear," her mum replied, pulling back and pushing her hair off her face. Ginny smiled at the gesture, and at how warm her mother's hands felt. "Least I could do." She paused. "I really wish you were coming to the Halloween gala tonight. But I understand that you're not up to it." She glanced at Malfoy, smiling slightly. "I'm glad to see you'll have company at least."

"Mum," Ginny groaned, feeling her face begin to burn once more. But she ignored her, turning instead to the blond man, who was now looking distinctly out of place.

"Draco," she said, holding out her hand to him, and Ginny tried to keep the surprise off of her face. "It was nice to see you again."

"You as well," he replied, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. Ginny watched, part horrified and part fascinated, as her mother's face pinked. Before she could think about it her mother had given her another quick hug and was in the fireplace Flooing away.

"Er," Ginny said, frowning and trying to figure out what had just happened. Had that actually been her mum blushing like a schoolgirl moments before? She turned to look at Malfoy, who was once again smirking at her over the sudden silence. "Sorry about that. I hadn't expected you to come by so I didn't think to encourage her to leave."

"Don't worry about it. And besides, I like to keep you on your toes anyway," he told her, his smirk spending. "Do you usually take a nap when your mum's here?"

"Uh," she said smartly. "Sometimes. She changed the sheets today, and I sort of just passed out while she was cleaning my room. I was supposed to be keeping her company, but I really love clean sheet day and as soon as I curled up on them I was gone."

"I also love clean sheet day," he told her, sounding completely sincere. "Though I can't say I've ever just fallen asleep on top of them."

"You should," she told him, grinning. "It was wonderful."

She glanced around the kitchen, to the crockery her mother had set out for them, then at the TV in the other room.

"Mum doesn't believe in eating in front of the telly," she told him seriously.

"Terrible habit," he agreed, mirroring her expression, and she felt an impish grin tug at her lips.

"Shall we do it anyway?"

He nodded, and soon they had everything shuffled over and she was sitting beside him on the chesterfield, looking intently at the bag.

"So what did you bring today?"

"Only the finest All-Hallows Eve feast I could find," he told her, smirking slightly as he began to pull out Chinese food. "You had better be impressed."

"The only way I could be more impressed is if you battled a dragon first to get it," she told him, looking around distractedly. Realizing what had happened, she leant over and began to root around the cushions of the couch.

"What are you doing, Weasley?" he asked her. She glanced over to find him watching her with amusement as he placed a plastic fork in front of her and chopsticks in front of himself.

"I'm—" she began, scrunching up her face. "Looking for the—ah ha!"—she pulled something out from between the cushions. "The remote!" She held it out to him, and his lips twitched for just a moment before pulling down into a haughty expression.

"Life must be getting pretty dull if that was enough of a victory to put that look on your face," he told her lightly, belying his expression.

She scowled back at him and whacked his arm with the device. "I'll take my victories wherever I can," she said primly then held it out to him once more. "You're always better at finding things to watch than I am."

"A compliment?" he asked her, stopping what he was doing. "Why Weasley, are you feeling alright?" He looked at her intently and suddenly the back of his hand was pressed against her forehead, startling her. "It doesn't feel like you have a fever. Are you sure you're you and not some doppelgänger?"

"Don't you think that my mother would have figured out if it wasn't me?" she asked dryly, forcing herself to lean away from his touch. He smirked at her knowingly, but she ignored him and held the device out more instantly.

"She could have been a doppelgänger as well," he replied indifferently. "She did let me in, after all."

"This is all beginning to sound very complex and convoluted," Ginny said dryly.

"Well, I am a Slytherin," he pointed out.

"And a prat," she informed him. "Now will you just take the bloody remote?"

He grinned at her, doing just that.

"You know, in Muggle terms, you're giving me complete control," he added.

"You have no idea how weird it still is to hear you speak about Muggles without a sneer in your voice," she said, her cheeks turning pink.

"Probably about as weird as it was for me to realize that they weren't as horrible as I had been led to believe," he said with a shrug. "Times they are a changin', Weasley."

"It would appear that way," she said, shifting forward to sit on the floor.

Malfoy caught her arm and kept her on the couch. She looked at him with a frown, but he just pulled his wand out and magicked some cushions onto the ground.

"You're such a gentleman," she said, trying to keep her expression serious, but she knew her flushed cheeks were giving her away.

"I do what I can," he said, once again focusing on the food, which he had managed to serve to both of them. "Though the present company isn't terribly hard to impress."

"And then you had to go and ruin it by opening your mouth," she said, glaring at him over her shoulder, though her lips were twitching.

"It's all part of my mysterious charm," he told her, joining her on the ground. His leg pressed firmly against hers, but he neither indicated he had noticed or was bothered by it.

"Malfoy, what other secrets are you hiding from me?" she asked, grinning at him playfully, trying to ignore how warm he felt through the fabric of her trousers.

"I'm a Slytherin, as we've confirmed, I have to keep at least a few," he replied, grinning back at her.

"How about you just tell me what you do when you're not at work or spending time with Luna," she said, her grin spreading.

"Read, mostly."

"That's it?" she asked bluntly, feeling everything come to a startled stopped. "You don't do anything else?"

"Not really," he said indifferently. "Go to the gym, or for a run. Depends on the weather."

"What about Quidditch?" she said, not quite sure what to make of this information. How could he not do anything other than read and work? Hanging out with Luna did not a social life make. "Why aren't you playing for some beer league or something?"

He shrugged. "Don't think that anyone would want me on their team, to be honest."

Ginny opened her mouth, then frowned and shut it. "There must be someone," she said quietly.

"Most people want nothing to do with me unless they're in need of medical attention." His hand seemed to subconsciously wander to the scars on his arms. "Or for some sort of perverse thrill."

Ginny's hand was moving before she could stop herself, and she grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his arm and gripping it tightly. His words broke her heart. How could things be so bad for him, and he still just kept helping people? The people who would rather never have anything to do with him, unless he was useful to them.

"I'll go flying with you," she said as he stared down at her hand, just as he had the last time. "Once I can again. We can race and chase a snitch around. I have access to a pitch whenever I want." She smirked a little, trying to lighten the mood. "And if we want some entertainment we can bring Luna with us and let her help. Her on a broom is something you need to see in your lifetime."

Malfoy stared at her, his face completely unreadable. She stared back, but as the seconds dragged on she began to feel like she had said the wrong thing, that he would interpret this as some sort of act of pity. But now that she thought about it, the thought of having someone to fly around with just for fun was exciting. Her and George, and Ang sometimes, went whenever they had time, and it was always a nice break from the seriousness of professional life. And maybe they could all play together sometime: him and her against George and Angelina. And Luna could commentate. She felt her cheeks begin to heat up as she realized just how far ahead of herself she was getting.

That would be assuming that they would still be, well, whatever this was after she got better—which was more than half a year away. Malfoy had only been coming over for a few weeks.

"You'll lose, you know," he said finally.

"What?"

"You'll never get the snitch before me," he explained, his lips twitching at the corner. "So if you think it will be an easy win for your ego, you're mistaken."

"I somehow doubt that," she said, a grin starting to tug at her own lips, relief and something else coursing through her. What did it mean that he was thinking as far ahead as her? "I played Seeker at one point as well, remember."

"I hope you've upped your game then Weasley," he said, squeezing her hand before letting go. He turned to his food and began to eat as though nothing was amiss.

"You're asking the professional Quidditch player if she's upped her game since school?" she asked him incredulously. "I think I should be the one asking you that question."

"You're a professional _Chaser,_ Weasley," he drawled, glancing over at her. "Those are very different skills from Seeking. You'll be just as rusty at it as me."

"I suppose we'll have to find that out, won't we?" she asked him, turning to her own food. "Though you might have an unfair advantage over me, depending on how my arm's doing."

"Making excuses for yourself already?" he asked, shaking his head. "And here I expected better from you."

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed shortly before gesturing towards the telly. "So what are we watching tonight?"

"There's nothing on but horror films," Ginny said after a few moments of looking at the screen. "Is it some sort of Muggle thing?"

"Yah," he replied. "They get all dressed up and scare each other. Much like how you dressed up your cat."

"Mum helped me with that," she said, looking over at the cat tower where Orton was sitting, watching them eat. "I think he likes it. I might have to get him a bow tie or something."

Malfoy snorted. "Does Poltergeist sound all right to you? I'm guessing it's about ghosts."

"Why not," she said, shifting slightly so that she was more comfortable, but keeping her leg pressed against his. "How scary can Muggle ghosts be?"

"I'd be surprised if they were," he replied as he directed the telly to turn to that channel.

"The clown," Ginny squeaked about an hour later, turning her head into Malfoy's shoulder. She reached across with her good arm to hold onto his before she even realized what she was doing. "Why the clown?"

"Er," Malfoy replied, his body stiffening for the first time since they had sat down on the couch, even though Ginny had been sitting closer than she ever had before. "Are you scared of clowns?"

"Apparently of that one," she said, cringing against him, yet tilting her head to see the screen. She jumped as the clown appeared under the bed and Malfoy snorted.

She turned away from the screen and glared up at him, her hand still clamped onto his arm. The light from the telly was reflecting in his eyes and the moonlight was shining in from the window making his hair seem to glow. He looked ethereal and breathtakingly, well, beautiful was the only word she could use to describe him.

His expression shifted from amused to something else, and Ginny's breath caught in her throat. She could feel the ferocity of her expression slipping away as her pulse picked up. Then his hand was sliding along her face, burying his fingers in her hair, his thumb rubbing over her cheekbone.

Her eyes locked with his, her breathing uneven as he slowly moved his face down until it was level with hers and she could see the mercurial rings around his irises. Feel his breath on her face. He was so close. All she would have to do was move half a centimetre and their lips would meet. But he didn't move, so she didn't either. She wasn't sure why, but she felt like he needed the time to collect himself, and, despite how breathlessly excited she felt, she didn't want to upset him.

"How much do you want this?" he asked finally, his lips brushing against hers sending electric shocks running through her system. His voice startled her. Was the telly even making noise anymore?

"How much do you?" she replied automatically, her eyes not wavering from his. She could feel her pulse beating against her throat, and she tried desperately to keep her breathing even. She felt like she was being surrounded by him, that any moment he would consume her, and she wasn't even worried that there could be nothing left when he was done.

"Don't answer my question with another question," he drawled, narrowing his eyes slightly, though the corners were creasing as they had earlier that day—when he had been smiling. "It's rude."

"Don't tell me what to do, you dictator," she whispered, though there was no bite to her words.

"You're avoiding the question," he whispered back.

She stared at him for a moment, then reached out and took his other hand. It was so warm it almost seemed to scald her skin, but she just held on tighter as she brought it to her chest, pressing it just over her heart, which was beating even more insistently now. Malfoy's eyes widened for a moment, and she knew he was trying hard to school his features, but he didn't quite manage it. And somehow that made her feel more powerful than anything else ever had before. She had found the chink in his armour, and all she had done was take his hand.

"I don't think I've ever felt my heart do this before," she said truthfully, realizing, as she said it, that it was true. She had certainly never felt this breathless anticipation for Harry, or anyone else for that matter. She smiled lopsidedly at him. "It feels like the first time it really matters."

"Well, I would hope so," he replied shortly, his fingers curling gently into her jumper. "I am the best person you've ever met."

"What?" Ginny sputtered, pulling back with a laugh, her side aching horribly for it. She realized that he was laughing too as she tried to curl in on herself without letting go or disrupting his grip. "You're such an arrogant prat!"

"Perhaps," he said still chuckling, his face once again alive as he pulled her face towards his. "Come here."

"Don't tell me what to do," she said, though her eyelids were slowly sliding shut.

"Make me," he whispered, then he pressed his lips gently against hers.

Ginny felt like the world was slipping away from her and she was just floating there with him. His touch was so soft and gentle—tentative almost—as though he was scared of hurting her, or of scaring her away if he was too forward.

Luna's words from earlier in the day drifted into her mind, about how he enjoyed his work too much to spend more time on it. He didn't think he deserved it, just like he didn't think he deserved this either—he had told her as much when he had first shown up at her flat those few weeks ago.

She was suddenly terrified that he would think that she agreed, which was so far from the truth. Their time together meant something to her, _he_ meant something to her, despite all sanity and expectation. So before she could stop herself she kissed him back with a fervour that startled her.

Malfoy made a surprised noise then he was kissing her back just as passionately, his other hand winding its way around her waist, pulling her closer, as his lips moving against hers with bruising pressure. She returned it as best she could, squeezing the hand she still held before letting it go. Reaching out, she took hold of his bicep, momentarily distracted by how firm and solid he was. She felt a shiver of excitement go through her as she used her grip for leverage, pulling herself more firmly against him as she licked at his lips.

He pushed his freed hand into her hair, grabbing hold of her ponytail and tugging it ever so slightly as his tongue met hers. Ginny moaned softly, smiling against his lips, suddenly needing more. She shifted her posture and leant back, down onto the couch, taking him with her.

"Ginny," he said, pulling back and looking down at her, his body tense and hovering over hers. His breathing was ragged, his pale eyes practically glowing in the light from the telly.

"Yes?" she asked, a smile spreading across her lips. His eyes dropped down to them and he didn't look back up.

"Never mind," he said, leaning down and pressing his lips against hers once more.

Ginny laughed against his mouth, elation and something else making her feel lightheaded as she tugged at his shoulder and entwined her legs with his, trying to bring him closer against herself.

There was a smile on his lips as he increased his grip on her, awkwardly shifting his legs between hers as he adjusted his weight. His thigh connected solidly between her legs and she jumped, a guttural moan slipping from her lips before she could stop herself. They both froze.

Malfoy slowly raised his head, breathing hard. His eyes locked with hers, and she felt her heart thud painfully against her chest. He looked almost wild in the growing blue light.

She opened her mouth, taking in breath, then jumped forcefully as a deep voice boomed: "Code Red 32! I repeat, Code Red 32!"

Ginny looked around wildly, as Malfoy pulled her closer to his chest, surprise and fear flashing across his face. Her mind barely registered it, however, as the little glowing sparrow Patronus caught her eye.

"What…" she trailed off, her eyes focusing on him, watching as his expression closed off and became serious, even though his high cheekbones had a deep colour to them and his hair was mussed. The line of his mouth seemed somehow at odds with how obviously kissed his lips were. The same went for the narrowing of his eyes, and how mercurial they looked, even cast into shadows as they were from the light of the television.

He glanced at her, and she felt her spirits drop.

"What's wrong?" she asked as he pulled back, absently helping her to sit up as he got up off the couch. She watched as he straightened his clothes, running a hand distractedly through his hair.

"There's been some sort of accident," he said, walking over to the hall and gathering his shoes and cloak. "There are a lot of patients coming in. Can I use your Floo?"

"Of course," she told him, getting to her feet and gesturing towards the pot on the mantle as he put his shoes on. She tugged her sweater back into place and wrapped her arm around herself. She felt suddenly cold.

"I've been meaning to tell you that you should have access now." She glanced away. "I put you on the list."

Malfoy stopped and turned towards her, his expression suddenly intense. His hand slid around the back of her neck and he leant down, kissing her, hard. A moment later he was stepping into the green flames, spinning away.

-o-

 **A/N:** Yay kisses! And interruptions! :D Ahem, I mean... Er, please tell me how much you hate me right now?


	7. Chapter 7 - My Little Ruin

Title: Somewhere I Belong

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

 **A/N:** It's fall reading break next week (Finally!), but I'm heading down to the States where there will be questionable wifi, so I wanted to get this out before I left. Not sure I've edited it to my standards, so if you see anything, please let me know and I'll get to editing when I get home.

Disclaimer: I claim nothing to be my own, other than this ever so slightly original plot.

 **Somewhere I Belong**

 **Chapter 7**

 **My Little Ruin**

—o—

Ginny's eyes snapped open, her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced around her room quickly wondering what had woken her. She hadn't been dreaming anything bad because the potion, which was already trying to pull her back into unconsciousness, ensured a dreamless sleep. The light from the moon was bright, and as she looked around her room she didn't see anything amiss, but her heart was still pounding away in her chest.

Her left hand fumbled under her pillow until her fingers brushed against her wand, and she grabbed it, pulling it out, even though she knew it was going to be mostly useless to her. Maybe a few sparks, but it was better than nothing.

She heard Orton meow from the other room and froze. It was his greeting meow.

Someone was in her flat.

Heart pounding in earnest now, she carefully climbed out of bed. She was trying to keep her eye on the open door as she did so and her foot snagged on the covers. Before she could catch herself she stumbled until her foot hit the floor with a thud. Wincing, she silently cursed herself for being such a klutz.

"Weasley?" a voice cut through the silence. "Are you alright?"

"Malfoy?" she asked, wondering briefly if she was dreaming—though she could feel herself relaxing regardless of the answer.

A moment later he was standing in her doorway. She took in a startled breath at his dishevelled and haggard appearance. His suit jacket and vest were missing and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing his sinewy arms and his scars, which looked washed-out in the moonlight. Even his posture was slouched and not right.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, letting go of her wand without realizing it.

"My flat really didn't appeal to me," he said quietly. "So I thought maybe I could sleep on your couch." He glanced around. "Though I hadn't intended on waking you."

Ginny frowned, wondering what it would have been like just to wake up with him there. She walked around the bed towards him, reaching out her hand, either for balance or for him to take, she wasn't sure which. Either way, when she got close enough he reached out and took it, his cold and clammy skin startling her.

"Draco," she said softly. "Is everything alright?"

"No," he replied, running his other hand through his hair, mussing it more. "Everything is not all right."

As he spoke, Ginny caught a hint of alcohol and she realized with a start that he was drunk, or at least intoxicated to some degree—which explained his couch-crashing plan. She wondered how often he did this; though she assumed he usually ended up on Luna's couch.

She paused, realizing that she wasn't sure what to make of the fact that he had been drinking. Didn't he say that he didn't? Was a former alcoholic—could he even be labelled as such?—allowed to drink? She knew next to nothing about the issue as she'd never been confronted with it before, and for the first time that lack of information bothered her. Why hadn't she done more research when she had first found out?

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, carefully pushing her thoughts aside. Now was not the time.

"No," he replied shortly. Then his eyes met hers and she was surprised by how distraught he looked. "Maybe."

Ginny nodded and headed out of the room, tugging on his hand when he didn't move with her. He followed obligingly after that, and she led him over to the couch where he allowed her to push him down onto it.

"Hang on," she said, squeezing his hand before letting go and heading into the kitchen. She got him a glass of water and brought it back, pressing it into his hand. He looked down at it as though he was intrigued by its function.

"Drink it," she said firmly.

He glanced up at her, his eyes raw-looking, then did as she asked.

His compliance startled her, but not nearly as much as when he handed her the empty glass a moment later.

Ginny stared at it, then at him, but he had his eyes fixed across the room to where Orton was watching them from his usual perch on his tower. She took the glass back to the kitchen to refill it, not sure what else to do.

When she returned, Draco (I guess he's Draco now, she thought idly), was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. For a moment she thought that he was crying, but his breathing was even.

Ginny was well aware that men cried, but she didn't know what she would do if _Draco Malfoy_ was crying on her couch just then. She felt an ache grow in her chest. Whatever had happened must have been bad.

She carefully sat down beside him, close enough that she could feel his body heat, but far enough away so that she wasn't crowding him. He didn't move and in the quiet she realized, now that she was stationary, that her sleeping potion was trying to pull her back down into unconsciousness with a vengeance. She reached back and grabbed the throw blanket, pulling it around herself and hunching her shoulders under it, determined to stay awake.

"I'm not sloshed," he said finally, sitting back slightly and rubbing at his face before sliding both hands back into his hair, pulling at it. He then dropped them heavily to his sides and turned his head to look at her. "My tolerance for alcohol is ridiculously high. It's part of why I"—he cut off abruptly—"I haven't been properly drunk in over six years."

Ginny nodded unable to speak. Her tongue felt useless in her mouth, her brain filling with cotton. Bloody hell, why had that potion seemed like such a good idea?

"I wanted to be though," he said, turning his head away from her.

"Draco," she finally managed. "What happened?"

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Someone attacked the Ministry Halloween party," he said flatly.

Ginny gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her family had been there! And Luna! Was that why he was so upset? Had something happened to Luna? Had she got caught up in—

"Your family's safe," he said quickly, alarm on his face, suddenly animated. He reached out and took her hand, pulling it away from her mouth and gripping it firmly.

"So's Luna," he hastily added. "I'm sorry, I should have said that part first. None of them were admitted to the ER, and I got confirmation from Potter, just to be sure. They are all okay."

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. She couldn't handle that on top of everything else lately. The fact that something had happened at all…

"Do they know who did it?" she asked quietly, her voice choked.

Draco frowned softly at her. He reached over and grabbed a tissue out of the box on the table then leant forward and gently dabbed at her eyes, his other hand still holding hers firmly. Ginny's eyes locked with his, and her heart began to beat oddly against her chest as he carefully cleaned up the few tears that had slipped down her cheeks. His expression didn't give anything away, but there was something in his eyes that made her want to start bawling, and she wasn't sure what it was.

"Thanks," she said after he had stopped and carefully placed the tissue onto the table. "Do they know?"

"Potter wouldn't say," he told her, leaning back into the couch, his eyes were still on her. "But I don't think there are multiple groups of former Death Eaters running around."

Ginny felt something within her shrink back.

"How many people…?"

"I don't know," he said, his eyes focusing across the room. "But there were at least forty people brought into the ER. Part of the ceiling collapsed, apparently." He hesitated. "We didn't have room for them all. We had to use the hallways."

Ginny squeezed his hand; she didn't know what else to do. He squeezed it back, then tilted his head so it rested on the back of the couch. He stared up at the ceiling, his expression neutral even though she knew inside he was anything but. Was he putting the mask up for her sake or his own? Did he even realize that he was doing it anymore?

Ginny leant into the couch as well, her eyes growing heavy, and she desperately tried to keep herself awake. She rubbed her thumb across his knuckles in an attempt to keep herself there.

"I hate working there," he said, startling her. "I hate seeing people like that, so helpless and…"—he sighed—"I just hate it."

"So why do you still work there? Why not just focus on your research?"

"I don't deserve to," Draco said bluntly.  
Ginny looked at him sharply. She hadn't expected him to just tell her that.

"And they need me there," he continued before she could respond, still staring at the ceiling. "I wasn't exaggerating when I said they were understaffed. Though some of the interns will make good additions, if they can stomach it."

Ginny nodded her head, her mind filled with imagined images of young students running around, trying to help people. Then the walls of the Great Hall were falling down around them, people crying and sobbing, the smell of dust and magic almost choking her. There was the corner where her family was, where she didn't want to go back to; didn't want to admit to herself that it was real. That he was gone.

"Weasley, are you listening to me?" Draco drawled, and she started slightly.

"Of course I am," she said, squeezing his hand more forcefully. "I took a sleeping potion, so I'm a little fuzzy headed now that I'm sitting down."

"Ah," he said, twisting his hand around and intertwining his fingers between hers, gripping her hand tightly. "You should go back to bed then."

"No," she replied, eyes fixed on their hands. "I want to sit here with you." She turned her head to look at him properly. "I don't want you to be alone."

He smiled faintly at her, his thumb rubbing along the back if her hand, sending shivers up her arm.

"Do you want to watch a film? Maybe something without clowns?"

"No," he said slowly. "I'd just like to sit, if that's okay." His eyes were focused somewhere between himself and the ceiling.

"Of course," she replied, pulling her legs up onto the couch and leaning her shoulder against his. "I'm right here with you."

—o—

Draco drifted back into consciousness. There was more light in his room than normal, and as he looked around, disoriented, realized that he wasn't in his bed at all. And that something was howling.

After a moment his surroundings clicked.

He began to sit up when a warm weight against his side and chest mumbled something.

Frowning, Draco looked down to find Ginny wedged between the back of the couch and his side, tucked right under his arm. She had her head and damaged arm resting carefully against his chest, and her right leg was thrown haphazardly over his legs, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders.

Her breathing was even and peaceful, and before he could think better of it he leant back into the pillow again and began to stroke her hair. At some point her hair tie had been removed, so his fingers were free to go through the entire length of it. And, as he had the night before, he marvelled at how soft and silky it was, how the gentle waves curled easily around his fingers.

He took a deep breath, idly amused as Ginny's head rose and fell with his chest. Staring back up at the ceiling he felt fatigue wash over him. He didn't want to look at the time because he knew he had to go back to the hospital as soon as he was able. But he didn't want to go back there. He didn't want to see the carnage once more, or the aftermath of it.

How had he gone from living in the best dream of his life, where he was kissing Ginny, to rushing to the hospital to find the ER filled with more injured people than he had seen since the Battle of Hogwarts?

What was happening to his life? It had all been so easy and straightforward until Ginny had been brought into his ER. Now everything was different: his father was getting out of prison, Luna was seeing someone, he himself was showing up in the newspaper with alarming frequency, the Dark Rising were being far too active, and, for some reason unbeknownst to him, Ginny Weasley had invited him into her life. It was like Ginny's fall had started a chain reaction and he was being shuttled forward at breakneck speeds, but his stomach was left behind somewhere and he couldn't quite catch his breath.

"Aah-aah-woo!" the damned cat howled again from across the room, and Draco raised his head and glared at it.

"Will you be quiet," he hissed.

Orton looked at him, said a short meow, then came running over, his odd lopsided gait not impeding him in the slightest. He hoped up onto the coffee table and meowed again. Loudly.

"Shhh," he hissed, only to receive another loud meow for his efforts.

"It's going to go off in a few minutes, I'm sure, Orton," Ginny said, burying her face further into Draco's chest. After a moment she stiffened, then slowly raised her head.

"Good morning," he said, tilting his head to see her properly.

Her hair was mussed around her face, her eyes slightly puffy, and her skin was paler than normal. Draco had never seen her so beautiful, so genuine. The hand he had resting on her waist tightened before he could force himself to relax his grip.

"Morning," she said, her face turning brilliantly red. "Uh, sorry… I must have fallen asleep…"

"I'm not complaining," he replied. She stared at him for a moment, then dropped her eyes to his chest. He noticed that he was still stroking her hair, but when she didn't move he didn't make himself stop.

"Er," she said, looking up at him again. "How—how are you feeling?"

He tried to smirk but failed. He wanted to tell her that he was better, to make a joke of it, to fake nonchalance. But he couldn't do it, not with her. Not when she was looking at him with those big brown eyes as she was, the sunlight catching in the golden flecks of her irises.

"Lousy," he replied, watching as her eyes widened at the admission. It oddly didn't bother him. "But it is what it is." He tightened his grip on her. "I'll get over it. I always do."

"Merow!" Orton exclaimed from the table, and they both looked at him.

The cat was glaring at him accusingly and Draco blinked in surprise. Could normal cats glare? Then the feline turned his sullen green eyes on Ginny, a grumble in his throat.

The sound of food dropping into ceramic echoed from the kitchen and the cat let out a mighty howl, leaping off the table and landing with a grunt. Then he took off running at surprising speed towards the kitchen.

"Told you he was playing it up," Ginny said, a smile on her lips.

"Little bugger," Draco said, relaxing back into the couch once more, resuming his absent stroking of her hair.

She was tense against him as she shifted her attention back to him, but after a moment the energy seemed to drain out of her and she rested her head against his chest once more. His heart pounded once against his chest in response, and he fought to keep himself from pulling her closer, from dragging her up so that he could ravish her mouth as he had the night before. So they could go back to where they had left off before everything had gone sideways.

But there was the problem, wasn't it? Everything had gone wrong, and things were different now. He had shown up in her flat, uninvited in the middle of the night—terrifying her in the process—all because he was too weak to go home alone. She had granted him access and he had abused it the first chance he got. He should have just gone home when he had finally forced himself to leave the staffroom, where his coworkers had all remained continuing to get shit-faced.

"I'm sorry I showed up as I did last night," he told her, staring up at the ceiling, his hand still moving over her hair, almost of its own accord. "I shouldn't have done that."

"I'd have been upset with you if you had sat around by yourself instead," she replied, and he tilted his head down to frown at her. But she was looking at him with a determined expression on her face; one that brooked no argument.

It was the same look she had given him in Flourish and Bolts all those years ago. The one she had used to defend Potter. At the time, he had seen that it was there because she had loved Potter and had hated him, and he had felt a profound jealousy that no one outside of his family would glare at someone like that in his defence.

But now she was making that face at him once more, but to defend him from himself.

"Draco," Ginny said softly, her expression shifting.

"Hmm?" he asked distractedly, trying to pull himself away from his thoughts.

"Do you—"

The fireplace leapt to life, and terror washed through Draco's system. He was sitting up and helping Ginny untangle herself from him before he realized that he had moved. And still, when a short figure climbed out of the fireplace, Draco found himself with his hands on Ginny's shoulders, their legs still entwined as the blanket fell away from her.

"Miss Wheezly," a soft voice squeaked from across the room. Draco turned to see one of the many house-elves employed by the hospital. She was dressed in a crisp nurse's outfit, with a little bonnet on her head. "Healer Malfoy. Pagsy is so sorry to interrupt!"

"Oh, good morning, Pagsy," Ginny said, her face turning brilliantly red as she tried to get her legs free. Draco would have been amused if his heart wasn't pounding so loudly. "You're not interrupting, don't worry."

Draco tried not to grimace as he nodded, finally managing to get Ginny to her feet, though he didn't agree in the slightest. He would give almost anything to just continue laying there as they had been. To add insult to injury, the little elf didn't even look surprised to see the two of them together, and he wondered, his mood souring further, if the elf read the _Prophet._ Lately, it seemed like every issue had at least one tiny article discussing his and Ginny's supposed relationship.

"I'll be right back," Ginny assured him as she followed the elf who was heading towards the bedroom.

Draco nodded vaguely, getting to his own feet before making his way slowly to the hall washroom, locking himself in. He turned towards the mirror and did a double take. He looked dreadful. His hair was in disarray, from pulling at it and sleeping on it; there were dark tracks under his eyes; and his skin looked pallid and drawn, like it was sagging slightly down his face. He poked at it, his father's frown lines surfacing in his mind. How much longer until he looked like that? Worn and tired and horrible?

He shuddered, trying not to see the other man in his face, forcing himself to take his wand out.

"Merow," came from behind him, and Draco jumped, spinning about with his wand ready. He looked down to see the damned feline sitting in front of the hole that had been cut into the centre of the door—the hole that finally made sense.

"How long have you been sitting there?" he demanded with a scowl, feeling his cheeks heat up at the fact that he had been scared by a three-legged cat. He always got jumpier when he was tired, though.

"Merow," the cat said again, standing up and hopping onto the toilet and then onto the sink, where he stood and glared at Draco.

"You do realize that I don't understand a word you're trying to tell me," Draco snapped. He felt the urge to push the creature off the counter, but instead turned and used his wand, trying to fix his appearance and get ready for the day as best he could.

The cat meowed again a few minutes later before jumping off the counter and running through the small hole, back into the hall. He heard Ginny saying goodbye to the house elf which was followed by the telltale sounds of the creature Flooing away. Draco sighed, glancing in the mirror once more, before opening the door and turning out the light.

He found Ginny in the kitchen, staring into her fridge. She was dressed as she usually was in her giant jumper and tight pants, hair tied up in a loose braid. The urge to walk over and slip his arms around her waist almost overwhelmed him, but he forced himself to stay back.

"Anything interesting in there?" he asked her instead.

She turned and scrunched her face up. "There's porridge. I usually just put it into the magic box." She waved vaguely to the other side of the room.

"The microwave?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

"That's what it's called!" she exclaimed, turning to face him properly. "Hermione keeps telling me what it is, and I keep forgetting." She frowned. "How do you know what it is?"

"Muggle world, remember?" he said dryly. "They all have those things."

The fireplace leapt to life again, and they both turned to see a tall, lanky redhead climb out. He distractedly magicked the soot away, straightening up and glancing around. He froze upon seeing them both standing in the doorway of the kitchen. It gave Draco a moment to see the horrific scars dragged across what was once a handsome face, and he felt his heart drop down to his feet. It was _that_ brother.

 _That_ brother then looked down, and Draco realized with a horrible lurch that his shirtsleeves were still rolled up. He hadn't even noticed, which startled him; usually he was so careful about keeping his arms covered. His right hand itched to pull his sleeve down, but he resisted. He had been partially responsible for the man's scars, so he had a right to see his as well, didn't he?

"Oh," the redhead said, finally looking up, his eyes coming to rest on his sister. "I didn't realize you'd have company. Sorry, Gin."

"It's alright, Bill," she said, stepping forward and giving him a hug. She turned to face Draco, smiling apologetically at him. "Uh, this is Draco."

Her brother's jaw shifted as he stared at him through angry blue eyes.

"He's the Malfoy who—"

"Who saved me," Ginny said firmly, cutting her brother off. "And the one who has helped me every time I end up in the ER."

The two siblings glared at each other, and Draco watched them, wanting nothing better than to Apparate away. Or, failing that, just throw himself out the window. They were only on the seventh floor. He could survive that, right? That was assuming, of course, that his incompetent coworkers could manage it. Or if they had any time after what had happened last night. In that moment he felt it was well worth the risk.

Finally, _that_ brother nodded his head. He turned towards Draco, his expression irritated, but no longer hostile. He held out his hand, and Draco schooled his surprise taking what the man offered him.

"Nice to meet you," he said gruffly, squeezing Draco's hand much harder than he knew he would have dared anyone else.

"You as well," Draco replied nonchalantly, squeezing back just as hard. He knew he deserved this treatment. The man had every right to hate him, but the other Weasley brother and matron had been so accepting. They had set him up to fail, he was realizing, lulling him into a false sense of security.

"I came by to see if you wanted to come to the Burrow," _that_ brother said to Ginny, turning away from him and effectively excluding him. "Everyone's showing up to see mum. She's pretty shaken after last night. The girls are all making brunch." He glanced around. "And dad managed to get away from the office for an hour or so. Shite's about to hit the fan, and it could be a while before any of us sees him again until things settle down. You know how he's like when things get busy."

"Oh," Ginny said, and Draco watched as she deflated slightly. "I… I'm not sure…."

"Come on, Gin," her brother said, sounding exasperated. "It's been over a month. You can't hide in here forever."

"She's allowed to do whatever she wants," Draco said, startling himself. Both Weasleys turned to look at him, surprise on their faces. "After what she's been through, everything is on her terms," he elaborated.

"Oh, and I'm sure you're just loving her being trapped here, where you can come visit and she can't escape," _that_ brother sneered.

"Bill!"

"But you don't know her like we do," the redhead ploughed on, ignoring his sister. "Ginny's hardly ever home. She's always out doing something."

"She's sick, not broken," Draco snapped. "She's not going to be in here forever."

"Draco," she said quietly, putting her hand on his arm. He felt a thrill go through him, and he glanced down, only to find an odd expression on her face. He was aware of her brother watching them shrewdly. "It's alright."

The redhead looked between the two of them, then sighed in exasperation. "Fine, Gin," he said. "But if you change your mind one of us will come and get you. Make sure you at least Floo mum."

"I will," Ginny said, nodding her head and sounding small.

With a final scowl directed at Draco, her brother hopped into the fireplace and was gone.

The silence that echoed through the flat was uncomfortable, and Draco found he had to resist the urge to fidget.

"I should have gone with him," she said finally, shaking her head. "I just froze."

"Call him back."

"No," she replied firmly, shaking her head. "I can't do that. Then they win."

"Win what?" Draco asked in confusion.

"Being right about me," she said with a shrug. "My hiding in my flat and whatnot. I can't let them think that they're right because I'll never hear the end of it. About anything."

"It can't be that bad, can it?"

"You try growing up with six brothers and see how well you fare," she snapped, scowling.

"I'll pass, thank you," he said, trying not to smile at her indignant expression. "If you want, I can take you. I have to be heading back to the hospital anyway. I can just drop you off on my way."

"Are you sure?" she asked, searching his face. "There're a lot of Weasleys in the Burrow right now."

"It's not like I'm going to walk you to the door," he said a little quicker than he would have liked. "Just to where the wards are."

"What happens if the wards start at the door?" she asked, a cheeky smile on her face.

"I know they don't," he replied without thought.

Her coy expression dropped away and Draco felt a familiar stab of guilt.

"Sometimes I forget how far in you were."

"I wish I could," he said softly, looking away. "Shall we get going?"

"Yah," she replied, sounding uncomfortable. "Just let me get my things."

Draco watched her walk away, regretting his words, yet at the same time glad that he had gotten them out. His past was important. It wouldn't do her any good to forget exactly where he had come from and what he was capable of. In fact, she shouldn't be putting up with him at all. He shouldn't be here. As he had realized before, however, he couldn't bring himself to walk away. He would have to convince her to do otherwise because he knew he was too much of a coward to do it on purpose.

—o—

With a crack, Ginny and Draco popped into existence at the border of her parent's property, both glancing around. The familiar hills and foliage looked so comfortable and safe, as they always did; yet at the same time all the trees were bigger, the hedgerows a little higher, some of the bushes and grasses that much more feral. It was odd and unsettling in a way like her mind was vibrating with the present and past trying to reconcile what she was looking at now.

She glanced over at Draco, wondering what he was seeing, if he had seen it before. His comment had freaked her out. And yet, what did she expect? He _was_ a former Death Eater.

"While I'm enjoying the fact that you're holding my hand like this," Draco said, drawing her attention back to him. His lips were quirked up, and he swung the hand she was still holding. She glanced down at her white knuckles and realized that she had a death grip on him. "I would prefer not to go into Weasley Central, if it's all the same to you. I'd like to live to see another day."

"It wouldn't be that bad," she said, turning as the sound of the front door opening travelled up the hill.

Her father and Ron stepped out, both looking towards them in the distance. As she watched, her brother began to speak vehemently to her father, gesturing towards the two of them. Ginny glanced back at Draco, his light hair glinting in the sun. There was no denying who had brought her; apparently, the Kneazle was out of the bag. When she turned back her brother was storming into the house, slamming the door behind himself, leaving her father standing there looking distinctly unimpressed.

"You were saying?" Draco drawled.

"Er," she said, eyeing her father then the rest of the house. "You might want to get out of here. Ron could be going for reinforcements. My father only has so much sway over them these days."

"Right," Draco replied, glancing towards the house as well.

Ginny tried to let go of his hand, but he held on.

"Look, I know you're probably going to decline," he started, glancing again at the house before locking his grey eyes with hers. "But would you be interested in joining Luna and me for brunch on Sunday in Diagon Alley? You have five days to think it over, if you're not sure."

"Are you trying to ask me out on a date, Malfoy?" she asked, smirking at him. "In front of my father, no less?"

"Yah, never mind," he said, taking a step back from her, but she increased her grip on his hand, making him stop.

"I'd love to," she said simply.

"Seriously?" he asked, surprise flashing across his face.

"Yah," she replied, nodding her head and feeling nervousness flit through her stomach. She wasn't sure if it was the prospect of going on a proper date with him, or if it was because of the whole being out in public bit.

"If you're sure," he said slowly, watching her.

"I am," she said, sounding far more resolute than she felt.

"Then it's a… date," he said, a slightly lopsided smile stretching across his face. "But you should get going," he continued, raising her hand and pressing his lips against her knuckles. "Your father is looking irate, and I'd rather not be further up on the list of people the Minister hates."

Ginny snorted and took her hand back. "Bye," she said, turning and heading through the wards her family, the Order, and the Ministry had all had a hand in putting in place. There was a crack, and she glanced over her shoulder to see that he had left.

A small smile tugged at her lips, the last few hours flitting through her mind. Waking up like that, with him, had been… nice. Really nice. She couldn't remember the last time she had woken up beside someone and actually felt comfortable in her own skin. What was it about him that made her feel that way? The more she got to know him the more she realized that he wasn't anything like the men she usually found herself attracted to. He wasn't outgoing, he wasn't social or involved with the world—all the sorts of things she herself was. And yet… she felt like he had the potential to be. He had been outgoing in school, and he was capable of going out into the world, if he felt comfortable doing so…

Ginny sighed and focused on making her way carefully down the hill. She absently poked at her lips, checking that her coloured lipgloss was still on. She had found, as Pagsy had been helping her earlier, a bruise on her bottom lip, which she didn't want to show off to her family.

Despite all of his quiet mannerisms and unsocial tendencies, the Draco behind his masks was anything but neutral and contained—which was probably why she was convinced he was more than he allowed himself to be. He may well be an introvert, but he was only a recluse out of necessity. And it thrilled her to think that she was one of the few who knew (or suspected, rather) the truth about him.

Ginny looked up and realized that her dad was still waiting on the porch for her. His disapproving expression coming into sharper focus the closer she got.

The happy thoughts flitted from her mind, and Ginny felt a stab of panic go through her, feeling like a teenager again. But she took as deep a breath as she could manage and straightened her spine. She wasn't a teenager anymore: she was a twenty-seven-year-old witch, who also happened to be an international Quidditch star. She didn't have any reason to be scared of her father. Not to mention that she hadn't done anything wrong. But despite all of this, she still couldn't help but feel a little unsure of herself.

"Hi, Dad," she said when she reached the porch, watching him wearily as she ascended the steps, hand on the guardrail.

"Hi, Ginny," he said, stepping forward and giving her a quick hug. The scent of his cologne surrounded her, and even though she knew she was about to get a lecture, it soothed her.

"So, care to tell me what that was all about?" he said after he had pulled back, his scowl once again in place.

"What what was all about?" she asked, cringing slightly at how much she sounded like the teenager she supposedly wasn't. So much for feeling strong and capable and adult. Adulting was hard today, apparently.

"Don't do that, Gin," her father said, shaking his head. "What's going on with you and the Malfoy boy?"

"Nothing really," she said carefully, trying to sound casual, but knowing that she was failing miserably. "We're mostly just friends." She knew that she was being disingenuous as she said it. She was well aware that his intentions were anything but platonic, and, if the way she had reacted to his kiss was any indication, neither were hers.

"I know your mother has no problem with this," Arthur said finally, shaking his head. "But I still want you to be careful, Gin. I know he rescued you, but he's still a Malfoy. A Kneazle can't change it's spots."

Ginny thought of the myriad of scars on Draco's arm. No, they really couldn't. Though they could try.

"He's not like that anymore," she said as firmly as she could. "He's changed. He's tried very hard to change."

"I don't know if that's enough," her father said, and Ginny felt her eyes widen. It took her a moment to remember that for her father, all things Malfoy would forever be abhorrent, no matter what they did. Damned family feud. "The Malfoys destroyed huge chunks of our society Ginny," her father continued. "Draco's own actions led to the death of Dumbledore."

"He didn't _kill_ Dumbledore," Ginny snapped, surprising herself. Though, it wasn't surprising, was it? "Snape did. And if you bothered to listen to Harry you would know that he asked Snape to do it."

"And if Draco had just asked for help in the first place that never would have happened," her father snapped back.

"But he was just a scared kid," Ginny said, feeling anger begin to claw at her. "He was just trying to save his parents." At her father's unconvinced look she felt the urge to cry well up in her, horrifying her. She had barely begun to argue, had barely made her case, and already she felt the steam draining out of her. What was wrong with her?

"It was all Tom," Ginny said, struggling against the hopelessness that was suddenly trying to overcome her. "He makes—" She cut herself off, pursing her lips.

"I know you must feel a connection to him based on your experience," her father said quietly. "That wasn't your fault either. But Draco had a choice, you didn't."

"Didn't I?" she asked equally as quiet. "I chose to continue writing in that journal, even after I began to notice gaps in my memory. How is that choice any different from trying to save your family?"

Her father looked past her towards the hill she had just come down. He looked exhausted and much older than he had any right to look. Then it struck her, like an idiot, that, of course, he looked tired. The world was descending into chaos once more, and he was at the helm of it all, expected to navigate all of this and make it better. And now here she was, getting tangled up with someone he deemed unworthy, one more thing to worry about on his periphery. Not that he needed to worry, but he would anyway, just like he always did.

"It just is, Ginbug," he said finally, focusing on her once more.

"And if someone had been killed because of my actions," Ginny whispered, dreading the words, but needing to say them. "Would you still hold the same belief?"

"It's still not the same thing," he told her, his voice gruffer than before. "He wasn't _Impiriused_."

"Isn't threatening his family basically the same thing?" she shot back, suddenly feeling like she was on solid ground once more. "He had no choice. He was under duress."

"There's always a choice, Gin," he said. "Always."

"No," she said. "There isn't. Sometimes the options aren't really choices, they just parade as them. The choice between death and—" she cut off. "It's not a real choice. You don't actually have any agency. And your attitude, or anyone else's, about whether you're a victim or not, still doesn't change the fact that you are."

Her father looked at her, his complexion losing colour. Ginny felt a pang of guilt, then wondered where those words had come from. She felt something on her edge of her mind, a pressure, a terrifying pressure, but she ignored it. She didn't want to deal with this right now. _Couldn't_ deal with this right now.

"Ginny," he said, frowning at her. "Did something else happen that you haven't told us? When they took you?"

Ginny looked at her father sharply, wondering why he would think that. Nothing had happened, or at least, nothing that she could remember happening, other than lying there and—

"No," she told him, shaking her head. "Nothing else happened. I just—Draco's done a lot of good over the past few years, more than I think you know. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. He's not a bad person, Dad. Trust me when I say that."

"I do trust you," her father told her, then took a deep breath, slowly letting it out. "I just want you to be careful. You've been through enough over the past few months, and you haven't been… yourself since you got back"—he hesitated—"I don't want anyone taking advantage of that."

"I'm still me," Ginny snapped, feeling like she had been slapped.

Yet even as she said it, though, she wondered if maybe he and Bill were right in some sense. Would she have been seeing Malfoy like this if she hadn't been kidnapped? Then she stopped that thought right there. Of course, it would have happened, because the whole reason that she got kidnapped was because she had taken the first steps in pursuing a relationship with Draco—though she supposed he hadn't actually asked her, despite his feelings towards her. Somehow, though, Ginny felt that it would have happened eventually, one way or another, which reassured her.

"I just can't use my wand," she continued. "And I don't feel comfortable walking around exposed like that. But I'm not addled. I'm just not interested in offering anyone else an opportunity to ruin my career further. And Draco has nothing to do with any of it, nor is he taking advantage of me. If I didn't want him around me, he wouldn't be."

Her father looked at her, pursing his lips, until he finally sighed, running a hand over his balding head.

"Just be careful, Ginbug," he said finally.

"I am, Dad," Ginny said promptly. And she was. Sort of. It was just a matter of her heart that was suspect. "I always am." She glanced at the door. "I heard that there's supposed to be brunch. I haven't had breakfast yet."

—o—

Draco walked out onto the floor of the ER, the coffee he had just consumed in the staffroom not quite enough to shake the fatigue he was feeling.

He glanced around, taking a moment to get his bearings. It was such a different sight from the night before. The blood and the people and the crying were all absent from the room. It was clean and sterile and filled with the normal hum of patients and staff. A lot of tension, that he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying, dropped away from his shoulders, and he went to work.

With most of the hospital staff trying to deal with the influx of patients from the night before, Draco soon found himself spending his time helping people that he would usually send upstairs. St Mungo's had changed their admissions policy and wards a while back, so everyone, except those with scheduled appointments, came through the ER where he and his staff would assess, help, or direct them towards other staff members who could help them better. Most of the time Draco felt that he was just a glorified secretary, sending people on their way. So it was a bit of shift in pace to do otherwise.

A flash of red caught his eye, and he felt a thrill go through him, until he realized the red was too orange, the owner too tall. His spirits plummeted as he saw Weasel King striding towards him, an ugly scowl on the git's face.

Draco clenched his jaw, but stood his ground, putting down the patient chart that he had been looking at.

"Malfoy," the redhead said, his voice strained. "Do you have a minute?"

Draco nodded, keeping his expression neutral, even though inside he was beginning to feel panic rising within him.

Weasel King led him off to the side, away from the patients, and then he rounded on him.

"What the hell is going on with you and my sister?" he growled, his fists clenched at his sides.

"I'm doing well, Weasley, thanks for asking," Draco replied, trying to convince himself that he felt as nonchalant as he sounded. "I thought you were with your sister having brunch?"

"Brunch was over a while ago," Weasel King said, glaring at him. "Harry dropped her off at her flat, if you'd like to know." There was a challenge glimmering in his eyes.

Draco nodded indifferently, feeling a small pang of jealousy go through him, but shoved it aside. The man was her ex-husband: there was no way to be rid of him. That and the fact that he was an honorary Weasley. It occurred to Draco then that if whatever was between him and Ginny did continue on, he would be forced to spend more time with Potter and this idiot Weasley, just as they twin had pointed out. The realization made him a little sick to his stomach.

"Now answer the question," Weasel King spat, and Draco tried not to scowl.

"I have nothing to say to you on the matter," Draco replied with a shrug.

"Fine, I'll tell you how I see it," the redhead snapped. "You bought my sister back from Dark Rising, and now you feel that you're entitled to her."

"What?" Draco demanded, his eyes going wide, all other thoughts falling to the side. "How dare you—"

"How dare me? How dare you!" Weasel King snarled at him. "She's sick and scared, and you're taking advantage of her! Do you think she owes you that? That a part of her belongs to you now?"

"Of course not," Draco responded, trying to keep his outward expressions neutral and indifferent. Inside he felt like he was falling away from the ground. Was that what people were thinking? _Was_ that what he was doing? "That would be disgusting. I am doing nothing of the sort."

"Then what are you doing with her?" the Weasel King demanded. "Because the only other thing I can think of is that you're using her to get information for your Death Eater pals."

Shock and anger shot through him.

"I would never do that to her," Draco said softly, clenching his hands into fists. He could feel heat rising to his face, but couldn't do anything to stop it. "And I will never associate with their lot ever again."

"Oh yah?" Weasel King asked unkindly. "Then why do we have confirmed reports of you getting chummy with Gregory Goyle in the ER?"

"I made the report," Draco said through gritted teeth.

"How very convenient," the redhead sneered.

"I had to help him," Draco snapped. "My job obliges me to help anyone that I can, regardless of who they are. I had to swear an oath to do so before I could become a Healer."

"And we all know how seriously you take your oaths of allegiance."

"Careful, Weasley," Draco said softly, something in his mind snapping. "I'm no longer in your debt. If you're in need of my services again I might not feel so strongly about saving you."

"I thought you were obligated to help people."

"Oh, I am," Draco replied. "I have to try. But that doesn't mean I can't have an off day. There are so many things that can go wrong with the body, you know? We're very complicated creatures."

"Are you threatening me?" Weasel King demanded, his face turning that horrible shade of puce that, thankfully, his sister's skin never resembled.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he drawled. "Just pointing out one of the glossed-over realities of medicine."

Draco's heart skipped a beat as the man in front of him pulled his wand.

"Ron!" Potter said sharply from behind them. Draco turned to see the man striding towards them. "What are you doing?" He grabbed onto his mate's shoulder, turning him away. "You said you weren't going to come down here."

"He was threatening me!"

"And what did you say to provoke him?" Potter asked him, scowling at both of them in turn.

"Nothing," the redhead huffed, but Potter was already pushing his shoulder so the taller man had to take a step in the direction Potter had come from. "He's still a bloody Death Eater, Harry! And now he's hanging around Ginny!"

"I'm not a Death Eater anymore," Draco all but growled, ignoring the looks people shot his way.

"Which is exactly what you would expect a former Death Eater to say," Weasel King said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's exactly what your father said, and look how well that turned out. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater."

"Ron," Potter said sharply, but Draco was already shaking his head, his breathing uneven.

He reached out, causing the redhead to jerk his wand back into position, but Draco ignored him, grabbing his left sleeve and jerking it up. He held it out to the both of them, ignoring how much he was shaking, and they both looked down, their expressions shifting to shock and horror—even Potter, who knew what he had attempted to do. He supposed the visual was always more startling than the idea.

"No one's ever using this thing, or me, again," he said softly, struggling to keep his voice even, his lip twisting. He jerked the fabric back down over his disfigured skin. "Now if you have nothing else to accuse me of, I have work to do."

He glared at the both of them but neither made any move to stop him, so he walked away, his heart pounding and nausea rolling in his stomach. He glanced around the ER, and upon seeing nothing of immediate importance, he strode to the loo, locking himself in.

Draco made it to the sink and grabbed the edge, looking into the mirror for the second time that day, his breathing laboured. When the fuck would his life be his own again? When would the man in the mirror not look like a traitor to him?

He slammed his eyes shut and stopped all thoughts. When he again opened them, he saw his cool, calm, expressionless face stare back at him. He felt so disconnected from what he was seeing, from everything, that, not for the first time, he wondered what the point was.

Shaking his head he pushed away from the sink and unlocked the door, heading back out into the ER, leaving all of his insecurities in the loo. He had work to get done.

"Malfoy, what _are_ you doing with Ginny?" someone asked to his left as he exited the room. Draco snapped his head around to see Potter leaning casually against the wall. He watched as the git pushed off and stepped towards him.

"Why didn't you ask her," Draco asked wearily, exhaustion rolling over him. "Since you're the one who escorted her home."

"I want to hear it from you," Potter said, looking at him with an almost neutral expression.

"She didn't tell you anything, did she?" Draco asked, trying not to feel good about that. Potter's silence confirmed what he had suspected. "That's because, as I told your git of a partner, there's nothing going on."

"I don't believe you," Potter said, shaking his head. "I want to know what you're doing with my ex-wife."

"Even if there was something going on, I still don't see how that's any of your business."

"When it comes to Ginny, it is my business," Potter growled, and Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I don't need to ask your permission to see her, Potter," he replied carefully.

"She was my wife!"

"Yes, emphasis on the _was_ ," Draco sneered. "Your mistake. There is nothing tying her to you anymore."

"Doesn't mean that I don't care about her," Potter snapped.

"And it still doesn't explain why I need your permission to see her," Draco snapped back.

"I don't want her to get hurt!" Potter shouted at him, startling a couple walking past.

"Neither do I!" Draco shouted back before he could stop himself.

Potter glared at him, and Draco glared right back, trying to calm his breathing. He was too tired for this shit. He was too tired for all of it.

"Fine. Whatever," Potter finally said, shaking his head. "Just watch yourself, Malfoy. If she gets hurt because of you you'll beg for death long before you'll get it."

"You don't scare me, Potter," Draco spat, shoving aside the shiver that threatened to run down his spine. No, he wasn't scared of Potter. Of Potter's position and influence? That, on the other hand, was mighty frightening.

—o—

 **A/N:** I feel like this story goes from Super Interesting Chapter! to Meh Chapter. Next time though, there will be a date! (And hopefully it will be a Super Interesting Chapter!) But for now, what did you think of this one?


	8. Chapter 8 - Whirling

Title: Somewhere I Belong

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

Disclaimer: I claim nothing to be my own, other than this ever so slightly original plot.

 **Somewhere I Belong**

 **Chapter 8**

 **Whirling**

—o—

Ginny glanced nervously around her bedroom, feeling like she had forgotten something. Her stomach was in knots, and she wasn't quite sure why. Well, other than the fact that she hadn't gone out in public (other than to the Ministry) in over a month, and that was exactly where she was headed. It helped that they were going to see Luna, as if that somehow made it less public. She wondered if that was part of the reason Draco had invited her along, a way to slowly reintegrate her into society. It would have pissed her off if someone else was trying to do it, but somehow with him she appreciate the gesture.

But it was a date. Sort of. Almost a double date—minus the forth member. Still, a date. Just thinking the word made her stomach churn with nervousness. Which bothered her. She wanted this—she was pretty sure—but at the same time she was still anxious.

She supposed it didn't help matters much that she hadn't seen Draco since he had dropped her off at the Burrow five days earlier. With all the extra patients in the hospital he had been working an excessive amount of hours covering for people in the ER. He had even had to work this morning, so they had changed their plans for brunch to meeting Luna for tea instead.

Ginny found that despite the few owls they had exchanged she missed him, and she wasn't nearly as frightened by this fact as she maybe should have been.

The sound of her fireplace bursting to life sent her heart skittering about against her chest, and she took a moment to glance into the mirror. Pagsy had helped her get dressed and it was weird to see herself dressed like she normally would have before everything had gone wrong. She had on her favourite skinny jeans, a flowing silk camisole, a loose knitted cardigan, and a proper bra (which honestly was a novelty these days). There was even a bit of make up on her face and her hair was down and neatly straightened, all the wavy kinks removed. If it wasn't for the sling strapping her arm to her side she'd say she almost felt like her old self. Almost.

She sighed and headed out of her room, hearing Orton meowing and Draco, to her utter surprise, saying hello to him.

"See, I told you the two of you would start to get along," Ginny said as she came into the room, pausing in the entrance of the living room to lean against the wall.

She looked him over, feeling an odd release of pressure in her chest, like something was finally settling again after being kept airborne for too long. He was impeccably dressed, as usual, his cloak a subtle charcoal, with the hint of a dark blue scarf underneath. It made his hair and complexion look natural, as opposed to the startlingly white that it had always looked when he had worn black in school, or in court the other week.

"We're not," he replied, turning to face her with a slight smirk on his lips. "I'm just being…" The expression slipped off of his face as his eyes fell on her, flicking up and down her body, finally coming to rest on her chest. "Polite," he finally concluded.

"That's not the way it looks right now," she replied, trying not to pay attention to the warmth in her cheeks. "I have eyes, you know," she added after a moment.

"Your point?" he asked, finally looking up, colour high on his cheeks as well.

Ginny shook her head, pushing off the wall and walked over to him, feeling a thrill go through her as his cologne greeted her nose. He kept his eyes locked with hers as though he was afraid of being distracted again, and she smile as she got up on her toes and placed a kiss on his pinked cheek. Before she could take a step back his warm hands were tangling in her hair and his lips were pressing insistently against hers.

Surprise and delight speared through her system, but as she began to kiss him back he pulled away, smirking at her when she hazily opened her eyes.

"Now, now, Weasley," he drawled, smoothing her hair down. "No need to get so forward."

 _"You_ kissed me," she said, scowling at him as she stepped away.

"Details," he said dismissively, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips

Her breath caught in her throat as his eyes drifted over her once more. Up close she could tell how tired he was. He had tried to hide it with glamours, but she could still see the shadows around his eyes, and the fatigue in his posture. He glanced around the room, not seeming to notice her scrutiny.

"You play chess?" he asked, eyeing the board she hadn't bothered to put away. He lowered her hand, his thumb absently running slowly back and forth against her knuckles.

"Poorly," she said, trying not to devote all of her mental capacities to the movement of his thumb. "Ron was over yesterday and after a couple hours reminded me how much I hate playing him."

"Want to try and beat me sometime?" Draco asked, a completely sincere expression on his face.

"You mean you want to demoralize me too?" she asked flatly. "You're really not trying to win any points with me today, are you?"

"I've already won plenty of points today," he replied, squeezing her hand. "But I'd just like to play a game of chess with someone who knows what they're doing. Have you ever tried to play Luna?" Ginny shook her head. "The world could end before she decides on a move, and half the time they're not even regulation, so the whole process starts all over again."

"How do you know I'll be any better?" she asked, eyeing the board now. Chess honestly wasn't one of her favourite things, but maybe she just needed to play someone other than her brother. She glanced up at Draco. What happened if she hated playing him as well?

"Because if you can hold your own against your brother for a couple hours then you have to be fairly competent," Draco said, and her expression turned incredulous. "Don't look at me like that," he said with a scowl, though his tone was light. "I saw how well he scored in the last chess tournament."

"Yah, and then he got defeated by a ten year old girl," Ginny said, her lips twisting up into a smile as she tried not laugh as she usually did. It was hard though, as her brother's defeat was one of her favourite memories.

She had been dragged to the tournament by Hermione, for "sisterly support," and forced to watch the whole thing. The look of shock and horror on Ron's face when he realized he had lost never failed to make her smile. She knew it wasn't very nice, but it did make her feel a bit better after years of him gloating about his victories over her.

"It was the best part of the article," Draco said wistfully, smirking at her, and Ginny rolled her eyes. He titled his head and frowned at her. "You know, despite what I thought, you do clean up in an adequate fashion, Weasley."

"Adequate?" she demanded, pulling her hand out of his grasp and stepping back. She moved to the hallway grabbing her purse as she went. "First you ogle me, now you flatter me. What's next? Trip me in public?"

"Never in public," he drawled, following after her. "I'd be arrested for sure."

"And what a pity that would be," she said darkly. She took her cloak off the stand, shaking it out before trying to shrug it on.

"It would be," Draco told her as he took it from her grasp and wrapped it easily around her shoulders. She felt acutely aware of his hands as he did up the clasp, and she tried, without much success, to calm her pounding heart. Bloody hell. She felt like she was in school again. "I'm too pretty to be in prison."

Ginny realized with a lurch that a decade ago that was exactly where he had been headed, until Harry had persuaded the Wizengamot to pardon him. His expression was casual, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Well, no tripping me then," she said flippantly, deciding not to comment on the hippogriff in the room. "I know it'll be hard, but you'll just have to try your best."

"For you, anything," he replied.

Ginny felt a thrill go through her, finally registering just how closely he was standing in front of her, his body heat palpable. Despite the fact that he had been kissing her moments before, this felt more intimate somehow, more poignant. She took a step closer still and his hands slipped under her cloak, gently taking hold of her hips. He looked down at her with an impassive face, but his lips still met hers halfway as she stood up on her toes once more to kiss him.

This time when she pressed her lips more firmly against his he didn't pull back, instead increasing his grip on her hips and tugging her towards him. Her pulse began to race as she put her hand on his chest, once again noticing just how firm he felt under his clothes. Curling her fingers into his cloak she pulled her mouth away from his slightly so that she could nibble on his bottom lip, as she had been thinking of doing all week.

Draco made a sound of approval, then he was pulling her backwards, bumping into something (the wall, she realized belatedly) and hauling her up more firmly against his chest, pushing his tongue into her mouth. A whispery little moan escaped her, and his grip spasmed before pulling her even closer, one of his hands sliding up along her spine to rest between her shoulder blades. Ginny's whole body was humming, pulsing with the desire for more, and if what was pressing into her hip was any indication she knew he felt the same way.

As if realizing this himself, Draco pulled back, breathing hard, and pressed his forehead against hers. She felt something flutter around inside her chest at the familiarity of the gesture, even as he loosened his hold on her. She opened her eyes to find him watching her, an oddly goofy smile on his face. She felt her lips tug up into one of her own at the sight.

"Hi," he said, his voice rough.

"Hi, back," she replied breathlessly, her heart pounding away. "I think I missed you."

"Only think?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe I know," she replied, feeling her cheeks heat up at the admission. "Did you—"

Orton meowed loudly from beside her feet, cutting her off, and they both turned away from each other and looked down on him.

"Why is your cat so bloody loud?" he asked, carefully pushing at her so that she had to step back, effectively ending whatever had been happening moments before.

"To annoy you," she replied, glancing up at him and trying to commit to memory how un-Malfoy-like he looked. His cheeks were flushed and his lips had far more colour than they usually did. It was a look she could definitely get used to.

She shook her head, trying to clear it. They had somewhere to be, didn't they? She was half tempted to just turn around and throw herself at him, but he had stopped the kiss; she had to respect that. So instead, she went about finding her flats and putting them on. When she glanced up she saw Draco looking in the mirror, running a hand quickly through his hair, the white-blonde locks falling back across his forehead, slipping down close to his eyes. She smirked, the expression spreading when his eyes met hers through the mirror.

"What?" he asked defensively, looking more composed than he had before. "There's nothing wrong with making sure you didn't mess up my hair."

"Did I say anything?" she asked, mentally making a note that she would do exactly that next time. She wondered if it was as soft as it looked, and silently cursed herself for not touching it sooner.

She moved over to the door and undid the locks, nudging at Orton with her foot. He was standing there anxiously waiting for a new chance to escape, howling discreetly the whole time.

"Does he always do this?" Draco asked from just behind her, his hand finding her waist. "He did this last time."

She nodded distractedly. Bloody hell, his touches were going to be her undoing. "You're not coming with us," she told the cat, nudging him more firmly this time. Instead of moving Orton just flopped over, meowing pathetically.

Draco laughed, and she glanced up at him, smiling back.

"He's a little shite sometimes," she told him, stepping to the side and stooping down to pick up her cat one-handed. As she straightened, Orton sat up and threw his paws around her neck, rubbing his face across her cheek, purring loudly.

"Ach! Orton!" she sputtered, carrying him over to the cat tree. As usual, as soon as he saw it he reached out and pulled himself up onto it, using her arm to leverage himself up. "Now be good," she told him, giving his ear a quick rub.

She turned back to find Draco watching her, a soft expression on his face. It went away the moment his eyes met hers.

"A ridiculous animal for a ridiculous woman," he said, his expression slightly mocking now. He held out his arm for her as she walked towards him.

"You're one to talk," she said, carefully placing her hand on his forearm. He tucked her in, pulling her firmly against his side. "What pet did you have growing up? It wasn't a ferret, so was it a snake?"

"No, it was an eagle owl."

Ginny pulled the door open, hurrying him through as Orton landed with his usual grunt, already running towards the door. She closed it swiftly and Draco waved his wand to re-lock it, almost as if this was a frequently done routine.

"Sounds snuggly," she said, cheekily glancing up at him as they moved down the hall.

"He was a proper pet for a boy of my social standing," Draco replied primly, straightening his spine so that his side moved against hers.

She looked up and recognized that he was more imposing than usual. She saw a hint of the spoilt boy she had remembered from school, as well as a shadow of his father. His posture made a huge difference in setting the two apart in her mind, and she wondered if he realized that there was a difference.

Ginny raised an eyebrow, and he slouched slightly, returning to his usual self.

"He was a miserable pet," he told her, pulling his arm closer to his side. "He bit me almost every time I came near him. But my father thought I needed something that would teach me respect."

"Did it work?" They made their way into the elevator and she hit the close-door button and the ground floor.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I just ended up hating the damned bird. If I ever have a kid I'm making sure they get a large fluffy dog, or something equally as friendly."

Ginny smiled at him, a pang of sadness going through her. It wasn't something she thought about often, mainly because it wasn't really an option, given her relationship status, but she still did want to have kids one day. She just hoped that she'd be able to manage it when the time came.

"No vicious Malfoy-eating birds?" she asked, trying, unsuccessfully, to shake the feeling off.

The elevator came to a halt and Draco led her out and toward the front door.

"Absolutely not," he replied firmly, holding the door open for her a moment later. He grinned but his expression faltered when he met her eyes. "Sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," she assured him, smiling. "I like the idea of you as a parent, with some poor replica of yourself that for some reason you name Scorpius or something equally as ridiculous." She grinned at him, feeling the tightness in her chest ebbing away slightly. "Poor kid would have to walk around calling himself Score to avoid the ridicule."

Draco didn't smile as she had hoped he would.

"It still hurts." It was a statement, not a question.

"Some days more than others," Ginny replied softly. She glanced around the alley they walked into, her eyes lingering on some new graffiti. Apparently the world was still carrying on without her. "It was more an idea than a reality. I wasn't even half way into my third month. And I had only known for a few weeks. It wasn't long enough to get comfortable with."

"But you were still excited," he said softly.

"Yah," she said with a sigh, thinking back to the excitement and the sheer terror. It had thrown everything into a different light, making her think about what she would do about her Quidditch career, how many more children she would want, if she could still have some sort of a job. Then broader questions like if she would end up at home with a small hoard like her mother, dedicating her life to them instead of to herself. Or if she had been ready for any of it. Or if she even wanted any of it. "Though it was probably best for all involved."

They stopped in the centre of the alley, both glancing around before Draco pulled his wand. Ginny increased her grip on his arm, taking a deep breath. She hated side-along Apparating.

"You're probably right," Draco said, an odd expression on his face. "They would have had an equally terrible name to my Scorpius."

There was a crack, and Ginny felt herself compress and re-inflate, reappearing in the Apparation point in Diagon Alley.

"What?" Ginny demanded, looking at him with a scandalized expression and letting go of his arm. "They would've had a wonderful name!"

"I highly doubt it," Draco drawled, reaching out and taking her hand firmly in his. She glanced down at it dumbly as he led her out to the street, but looked at him sharply as he continued speaking. "Your cat is named Orton, you named your brother's owl Pigwidgeon. Seriously, _Pigwidgeon."_

"Those are good names," she sniffed.

"I would say that it was because you've been hit a few too many times in the head with a Bludger," he continued, deftly maneuvering her around the surprising amount of people who were still out and about on the street. She glanced away from him. Were Sunday afternoons always this busy? "But this problem has been going on since well before you were playing Quidditch."

"I've been playing Quidditch since I was six," she told him, looking back up at him. "Though I never played with Bludgers until Hogwarts."

"You're only reinforcing my point," he said, raising his eyebrows at her, and tilting his head as if to imply mental incompetence on her part—which, of course, he was.

Ginny laughed before she could stop herself, cringing as pain flared through her side. Merlin, she would be so happy once this was all over and done with.

"How do you do it?" she asked once the pain had subsided.

"Do what?"

"You always manage to cheer me up or distract me somehow," she explained, frowning slightly. "Only the twins have ever been able to do that."

"One of my many skills, apparently," he said, an arrogant smirk on his lips, though there was still a smile in his eyes. "I can read you like a book, Weasley."

"Funny, I wasn't aware you knew how to read," she said, giggling at his scandalized expression, even as she squeezed his hand.

"You wound me, woman," Draco said, shaking his head. "I might need to go home and sulk. Wallow in my palpable illiteracy while I wander the halls of my completely pointless library."

"Oh, buck up, you ninny," Ginny said, bumping into him with her shoulder, feeling a thrill go through her at the contact. "We can get you a tutor or something if need be."

"Can we?" he asked her, an odd expression flitting across his face before his neutral mask fell back into place. "Then I can finally do something with my books other than brag about them?"

"You brag about your books?"

"Oh, all the time," he said, nodding. "Haven't you heard about my fantastic collection?" She shook her head. "You'll have to ask Luna." He glanced over her shoulder. "Speaking of whom, she's right there." Ginny looked over to see a little cafe with Luna sitting in the window seat, waving at them. She hadn't even noticed her.

"This is where you two go every week?" she asked moments later as Draco held the door open for her before following her inside.

"Usually," he said, his hand finding the small of her back, sending a shock of sensation through her. He guided her through the sparsely occupied tables, his fingers gently flexing against her.

It occurred to her then that he hadn't stopped touching her since she had approached him in her flat, and the realization did something funny to her stomach. It made her want to turn and wrap her arms around him and for him to just pull her closer. Maybe he would even stroke her hair again...

"Hi," Luna said cheerfully, getting to her feet and distracting Ginny from her thoughts. "I saw you coming up the street."

"We saw you in the window," Ginny said lamely, noting the paint on her friend's face as she returned the careful hug. Luna smiled warmly at her, then moved over to give Draco a hug as well.

Ginny watched as an oddly peaceful look flitted across his face before his usual neutral mask returned. She was beginning to feel like she could spend the rest of her life studying his masks and expressions and not get bored. She smiled slightly, thinking of a future version of herself with a doctorate in Malfoy Expression Interpretation.

"Hi, Loon," Draco said, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek as he pulled back. Then he frowned slightly and rubbed at the smear of paint on her cheek with his thumb.

"Thanks," Luna said, smiling her usual dreamy smile at him. "I forgot to look before I left."

"You always forget to look," he said, turning and helping Ginny out of her cloak and into her seat.

"Not always," Luna said, shaking her head as she reclaimed her own chair.

"Just most of the time," he replied, taking off his own cloak and scarf. He was wearing a soft-looking grey sweater and trousers, and Ginny wondered why he wasn't in a suit as he usually was.

He sat down to her left, his knee bumping into hers, making her jump slightly at the contact. He shot her a smirk, and Ginny felt heat rush up to her cheeks once more, acutely aware that neither of them had moved out of the other's way, his knee still pressing firmly against hers.

"Luna, you're my hero," Draco said, shifting his attention to the blonde. Ginny glanced down and realized there was a large cup of coffee in front of him, which he had wrapped his hands around. There was also a pot of tea sitting there, and Luna smiled fondly at both of them.

"I try my best," she replied, reaching for the pot. "I hope chai is okay, Ginny?"

"It's perfect," she said, smiling at her friend and putting her empty cup in front of her.

"So when are you going to go back to a normal schedule, Draco?" Luna asked as she poured the tea for both her and Ginny. Ginny's eyes flicked from the pot to her friend, and realized Luna wasn't even watching what she was doing, her attention focused solely on him.

"Is it that obvious?" Draco asked, and Ginny turned to find a grimace on his face.

"Only because I know what to look for," Luna told him.

Ginny looked between them in surprise, realizing, as she thought about it, that really no one else would have noticed. And yet, she had as well.

"Soon, hopefully," he said, looking down on his cup. "Most of the patients have been checked out. They're just…" He trailed off, and Ginny pressed her knee more firmly against his.

"Draco told me to ask you about his library," Ginny said to Luna when it became obvious that Draco would say no more. He gave her an odd look, which she felt could only be described as relieved. "Apparently he's always bragging about it?"

"Oh, he does," Luna said, tilting her head slightly, watching her. "Though he's read most everything so he's started borrowing from mine."

"Oh?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrows as she turned to him. He just shrugged indifferently, looking more himself.

"Her collection has substantially less New Age blather than you would expect," he said, putting his menu to the side of the table without looking at it. "Though there's a lot of Muggle philosophy."

"Those were mostly my mother's," Luna said, a misty smile on her face. "She was always fascinated by how Muggles thought. Especially before everything got messed up with their World Wars."

"Don't let her lead you on; it's not the normal stuff," Draco said, shaking his head. "It's mostly Continentalism."

"Which is plenty normal," Luna told her.

Ginny arched an eyebrow, smiling as she glanced between the two of them.

"Consciousness, in the strict or proper sense, is identical with consciousness of the infinite," Draco drawled, arching his eyebrow. "A limited consciousness is no consciousness; consciousness is essentially infinite in its nature."

"What?" Ginny asked with a laugh.

"The consciousness of the infinite," Draco continued, raising his hand to cut her off, "is nothing else than the consciousness of the infinity of the consciousness; or, in the consciousness of the infinite, the conscious subject has for his object the infinity of his own nature"—he paused—"how is _that_ normal?"

"I like how you memorized that," Ginny said with a short laugh that stabbed through her. "Must be really terrible stuff."

"It's his favourite quote," Luna told her, receiving a pointed glare for her efforts.

"Lies," Draco said, though his lips were twitching at the corners. "It's so ridiculous it got lodged into my head."

"Because he memorized it," Luna told her serenely, taking a sip of her tea.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and Ginny couldn't help but snort, receiving a pointed glare as well.

"So, Luna, how are things with you and Rolf?" she asked, smirking at Draco as she said it. For some reason the protectiveness he had over Luna amused her greatly.

"Oh, they're wonderful," Luna replied. "I took him home to meet Daddy the other day, and they seemed to get on well."

Draco stiffened slightly beside her, and Ginny glanced over at him in surprise, only to see his face completely neutral, mask firmly in place.

"Daddy and Draco don't get along very well," Luna said, and Ginny felt a pang of sadness go through her. "He still blames the Malfoys for my being locked in their dungeon during the war, even though I told him it was Tom and not Draco—but he won't listen. So Daddy'd rather I didn't see him, but I choose to ignore him."

"The feeling's mutual," Draco replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "But this sounds like this thing is getting rather serious, Loon. Introducing him to your father."

Luna shrugged, smiling her usual dreamy smile.

"Here you are dears," the waitress said, coming up behind Ginny and placing a few plates in front of them with her wand. Apparently Luna had done her magic food ordering thing again. And, as usual, as Ginny glanced down she realized that the orange tinged soup, which smelt fantastic, was exactly what she needed.

"I still don't know how you manage this," Ginny said, picking up her spoon. "You hadn't seen me today and yet you knew I would enjoy this."

"You're giving her too much credit, Weasley," Draco said, smirking. "You'll eat anything with curry in it. Even I've realized that."

"I take offence to that," Ginny said with a scowl. "I won't eat _anything_ with curry in it."

"Yes, you will," Luna said, shrugging when Ginny scowled at her as well.

"I won't eat anything that's not supposed to have curry in it."

"And what's not supposed to have curry in it?" Draco asked her, bumping his knee into hers.

"Er," she said, faltering. What shouldn't have curry in it? She had definitely had curry in near everything before… even that ice-cream Luna had offered her that one time… Bloody hell. "Whatever," she snapped. "So I love curry. How did she know what _you_ wanted?" she demanded of him.

"Draco always orders the same things," Luna said, and Ginny tried to hide her surprise. Though, truthfully, she had already noticed that he favoured certain foods and restaurants…

"I know what I like," he replied stiffly.

"And there's not a single thing wrong with that," Luna said, smiling at him before changing the subject to discuss some new paints she had just ordered.

The three of them sat there eating and chatting until the waitress had begun to clean and put the chairs up on the tables around them. Ginny glanced out the window and realized that the street lights were coming on and the sun was already mostly down. How had the afternoon slipped away so quickly?

"I nearly forgot," Luna said mistily as they all got ready to leave. She turned slightly to dig through her side bag watching with idle interest as Draco deftly did the clasp on Ginny's cloak once again. "These are for you two."

She handed them each an envelope, and Ginny looked down to see her name elegantly written across the surface. She glanced over at Draco, only to see him already breaking the seal. She handed hers back to Luna, who apologized and opened it for her, handing her an elegantly written up invitation.

"You didn't tell me you had another show," Draco said, and Ginny nodded, looking at Luna who was smiling serenely.

"I know," she said. "It's a surprise."

"That's an understatement," Draco said, looking more closely at the invitation. "A solo show at the Austin gallery?" Ginny didn't recognize the name, but the tone of his voice conveyed everything she needed to know: this was an exceptional accomplishment. "This is amazing, Luna."

The smile Luna directed at him made Ginny's heart tighten up.

"Thank you," she said, nodding her head graciously. "I hope you'll both be able to come." Her eyes lingered on her, and again Ginny felt something in her heart tighten.

"Of course I'll be there," Ginny said, stepping forward and giving Luna a one-armed hug.

"As will I," Draco said, his hand finding Ginny's as she stepped back towards him. Luna smiled broadly at both of them, her eyes lingering on their hands, then led the way to the exit.

"Don't forget about the Tarkcap," Luna said as they paused outside. A cool breeze had picked up since they had been inside, and it bit at Ginny's cheeks. "They're out and about this time of year. It's the late fall air that they like."

"Of course," Draco replied, nodding his head in all seriousness. "I'm always very cautious about the Tarlnap."

"The Tarkcap," Luna corrected him absently. She turned her huge eyes on Ginny. "You don't need to worry about them, Ginny. They only go after men."

"Well, that's a relief," Ginny said, glancing up at Draco, exchanging an amused smile. As she looked away she was struck by how easy it was to do so, and how nice it was to have someone else to be around Luna with and not feel like she had to constantly be on-guard about her friend. Draco understood and accepted her as well as she did.

"I'll see you two later. Don't get into too much trouble."

"Bye, Luna," Ginny said, waving as the blonde simply wandered away.

"It's nice to see that she has someone other than her dad to love her as she is," Draco said.

"She has you too," Ginny replied, squeezing his hand as she glanced up at him.

Draco nodded his head, his expression neutral once more, and began to lead her in the opposite direction. He once again managed to navigate them both smoothly amongst the people on the street. It wasn't as busy as it had been before, but Ginny noticed people staring at them. Had they been staring at them before? Why hadn't she noticed?

"So," Draco said, interrupting the silence and redirecting her attention to him. "Would you like to go to Loon's show with me?"

Ginny turned to find him looking at her intently. "As your date?" The words had just slipped out as they had the last time, and she felt her cheeks heat up. She really wasn't all that subtle, was she?

"Yes," he drawled. "As my date."

"That depends then," she said, trying to cover up her sudden embarrassment.

"Depends on what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What's in it for me?"

"How very Slytherin of you, Weasley," he said, shaking his head. "What do you want?"

"Will food be involved?" she asked, trying not to grin.

"Do you want there to be?"

"I feel like a proper date should have food."

"Then by that reasoning, we've been dating for about a month now."

Ginny looked at him in surprise, her cheeks reddening, but she was mollified by the fact that his cheeks were tinging pink as well. She wondered if he had meant to say that, but the idea of Draco Malfoy saying things that weren't carefully thought out seemed very wrong to her.

 _"If_ dating is determined by having food provided," Ginny said with a nod. "Otherwise I think we've been doing something else."

"And what would that be?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Eating?" she asked lamely, scrunching up her face.

Draco snorted. "Sometimes your eloquence stuns me."

"Whatever," Ginny snapped, looking away, feeling her cheeks burn. "But yes, by that reasoning I suppose we have been."

Draco squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, glancing up to see him grinning at her, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"So just to confirm," he drawled. "I am dating _the_ Ginny Weasley. England's best Chaser and London's most eligible bachelorette three years running? The one who is always loyally supporting her friends' and family's events and campaigns? The one the papers always have stunning images of? _That_ Ginny Weasley?"

"If that's the way you describe me, then yes," she said, blushing.

"Oh, don't get me wrong," he said, waving his hand as if to brush it all aside. "Those are just the titles I've read about. That's not what I think about when I look at you."

"It's not?" she asked, feeling like a bucket of cold water had just been dumped over her. She was horrified at how disappointed she sounded and at the tears that suddenly stung her eyes. She looked away hurriedly.

"Nope," he replied casually, shifting his grip on her hand and entwining his fingers between hers. "I just see Ginny, the most kind, intelligent, and beautiful woman I've ever had the fortune of meeting."

Ginny's head snapped up and she stared at him, dumbstruck. His eyes locked with hers, and she couldn't see anything but genuine belief staring back at her. He actually thought that? He actually thought that, she realized numbly.

"Most days, at least," he continued, not missing a beat, a smirk spreading across his face. "Other days I just wonder how you function at all. Sometimes I'm almost certain that your brain goes into neutral and you just go with it."

"You're such a git!" Ginny exclaimed with a laugh, her side throbbing sharply. She glanced around, her eyes falling on her brother's shop. "And as punishment you have to come with me to visit my brother." _That_ wiped the smirk off his face. She'd have to remember that one.

"I thought you _liked_ me, Weasley," he said, looking away from the purple building and turning his incredulous expression on her

"I never said anything about liking, Malfoy," she replied, shaking her head. "Only dating. And besides, George is the easiest-going of the lot. Well, next to Charlie. Might as well take advantage of that."

"Why can't we go to where this Charlie fellow is then?" Draco asked, a petulant tone to his voice that made her smile. "Easiest sounds like a good staring point."

"He's in Romania," Ginny said, shaking her head and pulling him towards the shop. "Surrounded by vicious dragons."

"What's _wrong_ with you Weasleys?"

"Nothing," she said firmly, pulling the door of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes open. She glanced back at him, but he only sighed and reached for the door himself, holding it open for her.

As they walked into the shop, the usual smell of smoke and potions ingredients greeting her nose. She felt the tension in her shoulders, which she hadn't even realized was there, ebb away.

"Little Sister!"

They both looked to the back of the shop to see George, dressed in a purple crushed velvet suit, striding towards them. There was a broad grin on his face despite her company.

"You're out of your flat!" he exclaimed when he reached them, gathering her into a gentle hug.

"I am," she said as he let her go, chucking her under her chin affectionately. "No thanks to you."

"No," he agreed. "It seems like the credit goes to this git. Again." He turned to Draco and stuck out his hand. "Malfoy."

"Weasley," he replied, taking her brother's hand with only the slightest hesitation.

Ginny watched the exchange, frowning at the grin her brother was giving the blond. It was the same sort of grin he and Fred would share when there was some funny business going on, and she was struck by how odd it was to see again. She had almost forgotten about it, but now that she saw it again she wondered how she could have. How many other things about her brothers had slipped from her mind?

"This is quite the operation you have going here," Draco was saying, and Ginny hastily pulled herself out of her musings as George wrapped an arm around her shoulder, leading them both further into the store. Draco was looking around with what Ginny knew to be genuine interest, though she doubted anyone else would see that.

"This isn't the half of it. The backroom is where all the magic happens."

"He means the experiments of questionable legality," Ginny said, forcing the sadness from her mind and focusing on the moment instead.

"Little Sister, don't slander my good business," George said, squeezing her good shoulder. "Otherwise you might find yourself as our test subject once more."

"See," Ginny said with a laugh.

Draco gave them both an amused look, before his eyes rested on the pen in the middle of the room.

"Are those puffskeins?" he asked, his expression doubtful.

"Miniature ones," George said proudly. "We call them Pygmy Puffs."

The three of them walked up to the cage and Ginny peered in, smiling at the multicoloured fluff balls, who, as usual, were making a quiet ruckus.

"I used to have one named Arnold," Ginny told him as her brother let her go and stepped to the side to adjust the sign, which was hanging crookedly.

 _"Arnold?"_ he asked her, scrunching his nose in distaste. "What sort of name is _Arnold?_ I firmly maintain my previous prediction on names."

Ginny laughed, reflexively grabbing her side, and caught George's amused smirk. It suddenly struck her how nice it was to actually have a brother on her side. She hadn't even considered that it could be a possibility, and even now, it wasn't until she saw it in real life that she actually started to believe it.

"So you had a Pygmy Puff named Arnold," Draco drawled, surprising her by reaching into the cage and picking up one of the bigger orange ones. He inspected it as the creature began to purr. "Any other unfortunately named creatures I should be aware of?"

"She named the attic ghoul Frank," George told him, smiling at a mother who was also eyeing the small fluffy creatures.

"Frank that attic ghoul, Arnold the Pygmy Puff, Pigwidgeon the owl," Draco said slowly, and Ginny found herself smiling despite herself, petting the puff of fur in his hand. The tiny creature inside was all boney but warm, vibrating with the intensity of its purrs. "You're really not doing very well for yourself in the name department, Gin."

She felt a thrill go through her at the use of her nickname. She glanced quickly over at George, but he didn't seem the least bit upset. In fact, it looked like he was trying not to laugh as he looked at the man beside her. She turned to Draco to see a slight tint of pink on his cheeks as though he was surprised by the slip-up as well.

"Oh, and then Orton the cat," he continued, as though to cover it all up.

"To be fair, I found the cat on Orton Street," her brother said, shrugging and not commenting at all—which, if nothing else, told her that something was going on between her brother and Draco Malfoy. Had she slipped into an alternate universe at some point? "I didn't know what to do with him so I gave him to Ginny. She needed someone to keep her company anyway."

"George just didn't like how loud he was."

"He's so loud," George muttered, running a hand over his face in pretend exasperation. "He's too noisy to keep around here."

"He's too noisy to be kept anywhere," Draco added, and Ginny jabbed him in the side with her elbow. He scowled at her, but didn't comment.

"Oi!" someone called. "Why didn't you tell me Ginny was here?"

Ginny turned to see Ron walking towards them, a scowl on his face. He had a pile of boxes in his arms, and was carefully making his way towards them, sidestepping customers as he went.

"Because she just got here, Ronikins," George said, rolling his eyes, not bothering to help him as he struggled to put the boxes down on a table. Ron's face fell further when he saw who she was standing beside.

"You brought Malfoy with you," he said, nonplussed.

"Weasley," Draco said, nodding his head stiffly.

Ron just stared at him looking like he'd swallowed something disgusting. He glanced at George, and upon getting no reaction, fixed his blue eyes on the creature in Draco's hand. "Going to adopt a Pygmy Puff?" he asked snidely. "I didn't realize they were something you'd fancy. Usually only little girls want them."

Draco looked down on the ball of fur, then looked at Ron and shrugged. "Nothing wrong with something fluffy that purrs when you pet it." Ginny snorted, wondering if he realized that that same description worked for her cat as well. Though she supposed Orton had yet to sit on Draco's lap and purr. Maybe that was why they didn't get along…

George draped his arm around Ron's shoulder, and grinned at her and Draco.

"For getting Gin out of her flat and out into the real world, not once but twice, he can have however many of those balls of love that he wants," he said, winking at her.

Draco looked down on the Pygmy Puff, giving it a final pat before returning it to the pen with the others.

"She got herself out all on her own," he informed them, causing Ginny to blink with surprise. He wasn't taking credit for this? "We just decided to go see Luna together."

Ron raised both eyebrows, looking at Ginny, but George's elbow being driven into his ribs cut off whatever he had planned to say.

"Anyway," Ginny said slowly, glancing between the three men. "I think we're going to head out. I just wanted to pop in and say hi."

"Ah, don't let Ronikins scare you two off," George said, even as he let go of her brother, and moved in to hug her again. "It's really good to see you out in the world again, Gin," he said quietly in her ear as he did so. Ginny smiled at him as he pulled back, his hands lingering on her shoulders as he looked fondly at her.

"It feels good to be out," she told him honestly.

She avoided giving Ron a hug because she really didn't want to give him the opportunity to say anything to her about her choice in company. She realized that it had been a mistake on her part, however, as he took the opportunity to maneuver Draco to the side, and was saying something softly to him, his expression dark.

"Ronikins," George said sweetly, catching his arm and tugging him back. Ginny absently took Draco's hand once more, cringing slightly as Ron's face began to change colour. She took a deep breath and increased her grip, staring back at him with challenge. He was just going to have to get used to it. They were dating (dating?!) after all. "Leave the nice Malfoy alone, and get back to work."

 _"Nice?"_

"There's a vat of mysterious purple potion in the back, just waiting for a test subject, Ronikins," George said in a deceptively innocent voice, and Ginny felt oddly happy as her brother blanched, muttering "whatever," before turning and doing as he was told. George winked at her, before turning his attention to her companion.

"Malfoy," George said once more, nodding his head.

"Weasley," Draco replied, an odd half smirk on his lips before he turned and led her out of the shop.

Ginny glanced over her shoulder and waved at both her brothers, feeling oddly elated that no one had died and the shop was still standing. It was heartening, really. A good sign.

"What did Ron say to you?" she asked as they resumed walking down the street.

"Nothing really," Draco replied with a shrug. "Just the usual threat of death and dismemberment—and a possible permanent stay in Azkaban if the death didn't take."

"Oh," Ginny replied, not feeling surprised but still feeling disappointed nonetheless. "Sorry. He's a prat."

"That I know very well," he said, smirking at her.

Ginny laughed, then frowned slightly.

"What's going on between you and my brother?"

"I believe that it can be called unchecked animosity," he replied, grinning at her slightly.

"Not Ron, you twit," she said with a scowl. "George."

"Why, Weasley," he said, the grin on his lips turning slightly lecherous. "Are you jealous? Worried that my partiality to redheads is spreading?"

"What?" she sputtered, looking at him incredulously, though she felt her lip twitch as he laughed. She glanced away to hide her expression and caught their reflection in the glass of the shop they were walking past.

She paused, her feet stopping of their own accord.

The way the lamp light hit him as he stopped laughing cast him into shadows, giving him a sinister and wholly different appearance. One that was completely at odds with who he was, but not alien to her. She stared, her mind spinning. It was Flint staring back at her, and she felt shock radiate through her, followed by pure terror.

—o—

Draco laughed, feeling light as he watched Ginny's cheeks begin to redden, glancing away from him. He opened his mouth to tease her some more, when she abruptly stopped moving. He did an odd skip to avoid crashing into her, glancing around after, hoping that no one saw. Luckily it didn't look like anyone had.

"Do you have a fetish for robes as well as shoes?" he asked, glancing over at her. "Because you never—" His heart beat once, hard, as he realized that her face had lost all colour. "What's wrong?"

"I…" she trailed off. "It hasn't happened before, but when I looked in the window…." She turned her head towards him, her eyes widening. "I saw Flint staring back at me and not you."

"Are you okay?" he asked slowly, searching her face. Her expression wasn't calming down. Glancing around, he pulled her up along the building and out of the way of foot traffic.

"I…" she trailed off once more, her focus drifting away from him and Draco watched with increasing alarm as her breathing became more laboured, her body starting to shake slightly.

"Just let it go," he said, carefully placing his hand on her good shoulder and gripping it with what he hoped was reassuring pressure. "Everything is okay now. You're with the real me, and he's in Azkaban. Just take a deep breath."

She nodded her head, squeezing her eyes shut, and he glanced around, feeling irritation flare through him as he realized people were staring as they walked past. Couldn't they give them any privacy? Hadn't they ever seen an anxiety attack before?

He looked back at her, only to see tears leaking out of her eyes. Not what he wanted to see at all.

"Ginny," he said softly. "Gin, what's wrong?

"I got hit by a car," she said whispered quickly, looking with wide eyes at his shoulder. "And I woke up in the dark. And everything hurt so much. Then I saw you, but it wasn't you. And they could have done anything to me and I couldn't have"—a sob cut her off—"if you hadn't shown up—"

"But I did show up," he said over her, increasing his grip on her. "You don't need to think about what could have happened, because it didn't and it never will. You're safe now."

"I was so _scared,"_ she gasped. "And if I think about it, I'm just as scared all over again. I can't get it out of my _head._ And I haven't been thinking about it, but then I saw him instead of you—"

The next thing Draco knew she was crying in earnest.

"Hey, hey," Draco said in alarm, the world threatening to spin off it's axis, a dull ringing in his ears. He pulled her to him, holding her tightly. "It's over. You're okay."

"They used your face," she said into his chest, shaking her head. Another sob slipped past her lips, her whole body shuddering in the process.

People around them were beginning to stop, and Draco held her closer, his wand clenched in his hand. Making a split second decision, he Disapparated, taking her with him.

—o—

 **A/N:** I think I was taking 19th C philosophy when I wrote this chapter… If you haven't noticed philosophy has kind of taken over my life, and my writing… Anyone know who Draco was quoting? And yes, I am ignoring your stink eye, thank you very much. So I'll just wander off before you hurt me, shall I? Next chapter should be more satisfying. Sort of. Maybe. …?


	9. Chapter 9 - Sleeping Sickness

Title: Somewhere I Belong

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

 **A/N:** Well, the Fire and Ice Archive is down, so I guess I'll just post this here, and hopefully they'll get fixed and catch up. I'm really not happy with this chapter, but the more I tried to fix it the more blotched up it became, so I gave up. I'm sorry I don't have something better to offer you for Christmas.

Disclaimer: I claim nothing to be my own, other than this ever so slightly original plot.

 **Somewhere I Belong**

 **Chapter 9**

 **Sleeping Sickness**

—o—

The suffocating nothingness stopped and Draco opened his eyes, glancing around his front foyer. It had been the only place he could think to take her.

Ginny's body shuddered in his arms, and a moment later she was crying in earnest, her whole body shaking with the effort. A soft sound of distress slipped up his throat before he could stop it, and he gathered her closer to himself as her sobs wrenched at his heart.

"I'm here with you, Gin," he said, trying to inject as much confidence into his voice as he could. "It's going to be okay—this is going to pass."

Her legs went and Draco found himself sliding to the floor with her, gathering her closer to himself as he did so. Distractedly he summoned a box of tissues over, and she took some but did nothing more than clench them in her fist by her side. So Draco just increased his grip around her and allowed himself to bury his face into her hair, her lavender scent surrounding him, and tried not to fully acknowledge how much pain she was in.

He had done this to her. She was like this now because of him, because he had fancied her. Because he had associated himself with terrible people; people who then took advantage of his affections and her vulnerability. And there was nothing he could do to fix her. Before, when she had been injured, he could, but this, this he couldn't fix.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force the images from his mind, to not let her sorrow drag him down as well; but it was a losing battle. So he stroked her hair, muttered things into her ear, tried to curve his body around hers—but he wasn't sure if it was more for her or for himself. Bloody hell, he was such a selfish bastard.

And now it was just going to get worse for her: she had been seen out in public with him. He had expected people to stare, given who she was and the fact that her story had been circulating in the papers quite frequently, but even he had been startled. He was amazed that Ginny hadn't noticed herself, but then, he had tried very hard to distract her, and he had a feeling that her subconscious had handled the rest.

But really, he wasn't sure what he had expected. Her first reappearance in public had been in Diagon Alley, with a former Death Eater holding her hand. Draco silently cursed himself for making things even worse for her. What had he been thinking? Especially with how things had been falling out after the Dark Rising's attack on the Ministry at Halloween.

"It's going to be okay," he said, pulling her closer to him, hoping with everything he had that it actually would be.

Draco wasn't sure how long they sat there for, but at some point, they had shed their cloaks, so it seemed it had been a while. Eventually, though, her sobbing turned to pathetic sniffling and he once again tried to offer her some tissues.

"Thanks," she said nasally, pulling away slightly and noisily blowing her nose. Draco cringed but kept his mouth firmly shut.

She tossed the tissue aside carelessly, then dropped her head back down onto his chest. His eyes lingered on the tissue that was now lying on his otherwise pristine floor but was distracted as her head reconnected with his chest and he became aware of how damp his clothes were. He pulled back and looked down.

"You soaked my jumper," he said idiotically.

She looked up at him and laughed in an oddly congested fashion. Draco just stared back at her. Her face was a big blotchy mess: her skin red, her eyes bloodshot and puffy, her nose chafed, and her makeup, which had looked so stunning, smudged all to hell. These weren't the tears that were poetically written about—these were the remnants of a battle—and, looking at her, he realized that he loved her.

He loved her.

The words echoed through his mind as something warm blossomed in his chest and yet the revelation wasn't as startling as it should have been. He always had, even if he had never consciously acknowledged it.

Her hand came up and wiped ineffectually at the large wet spot on his chest.

"Sorry," she said, giving it up as a bad job moments later. "Thank you for sacrificing your shirt to me."

Draco blinked, feeling jarred back into reality, his realization flitting to the back of his mind—which was probably for the best, given his track record with the truth. "Sacrificing? You don't have acidic tears, do you?"

"No," she said with another congested laugh. "But I don't know if makeup comes out very well."

"Can't be any worse than what I'm used to getting out of my Healer robes," he said with a shrug.

She gave him an odd look. "You don't have a house elf?"

"No…"

Ginny glanced around, her hair falling into her eyes. "But your place is so _clean."_

"What are you trying to say, Weasley?" He brought a hand up and brushed the hair off of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"Nothing," she said, an odd little smile twisting her lips, and before Draco could stop himself he was running his thumb across them.

"Are you okay?" he asked, focusing on her face once more and finding that he couldn't take his eyes off of her. He loved her. Bloody hell, he _loved_ her.

"I… that was a long time coming," she said softly, looking past him. "I haven't cried since we were in the hospital together. But I feel better now." She paused. "I'm not as scared."

"Good," he replied, smiling softly at her. "You don't have anything to be afraid of." She nodded. "Can we get up off the floor then?"

She laughed again, nodding, the sound relieving more tension.

Draco groaned, getting to his feet and taking her with him. They stood there for a moment, then impulsively he cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips firmly against her forehead. She closed her eyes and leant against his chest, and he felt something in him tighten at her acceptance. After a moment he let his arms slide down and wrap loosely but securely around her, his right hand absently rubbing at her back.

Hugging her was very different from hugging Luna. Luna always kept a slight distance between them—a polite distance, he supposed—but Ginny was pressed flush against him, leaning her whole weight into him. No one had ever hugged him like this before.

"I hate that you had to go through that," he muttered, dipping his chin down the slight distance to rest it on the top of her head. "I hate that I had a part in it. I should never have paid any attention to you in school."

"You can't blame yourself for who you find attractive, Draco," she said softly into his chest. "You didn't do anything wrong." She shifted out from under his chin and looked at him. "This wasn't your fault."

He stared back at her, biting his tongue so that he didn't argue with her. Instead, he nodded and she returned her face to his chest.

They stood there for a long while, Ginny's weight slowly increasing on him, until it occurred to him that she was falling asleep. He carefully took a step back, and she looked blearily up at him.

"Come," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, seeming to be unable to let her go now that she was in his arms, just as he hadn't been able to all day. "Sit on the couch, and I'll get us something to drink."

"Okay, I think I could do with a—Draco!" she exclaimed as he brought her into the living room. "What the hell is that?"

He glanced from her to the corner of the room where she was looking. "My telly?" he asked as he got her settled on the couch, automatically giving her the throw blanket that Luna had brought over one night.

"Why's it so big?"

"Why not?" he asked as he pointed his wand at the fireplace and got a warm fire going. Admittedly the television was huge. But it did fit the space nicely; never mind that the space had been designed to house it… and all his other electronics, in a nice magic-free pocket.

She looked at him and slowly shook her head, her eyes seeming to dance in the flames.

"You never cease to surprise me," she told him.

"That's probably for the best," he said with a smirk, then headed out of the room and into the kitchen.

When he returned a short while later with two mugs of hot chocolate, it was to find her curled up under the blanket, her eyes closed. He set the mugs down on the table, and he stared down at her, feeling a little blank. Again, she looked so defeated lying there. So not the woman she had been before this doppelgänger mess.

He wanted to murder Flint. He wanted to murder all of them. For what they had done to her, for what they had stripped from her. He didn't know what he would do if she never recovered, if she was always terrified, somewhere in the back of her mind. If he could force them to give it all back to her, he wouldn't hesitate to do whatever it took.

How the hell had he gotten here? To a point in his life where he had Ginny Weasley, of all possible people, in his life, rapidly becoming more important than anything else ever had? The power his family had had over him had been enough for him to do unthinkable things, and he couldn't even fathom what he would be capable of for her. He had already walked into danger and handed over thousands of Galleons to a terrorist organization, and that had been when he had just admired her from afar. Bloody hell, what was he getting himself into?

Shaking his head he sat down beside her, picking up the remote and turning on the telly.

"How did you know what to say?" she asked, and he glanced over to find her looking at him. "When I was panicking."

"I've had them before," he told her carefully, glancing at the screen before looking back at her, satisfied with what was on.

"How often?"

"Depends on what's going on," he said with a shrug, turning back to the telly, watching as the Tardis flew across the screen. "Sometimes a couple a day."

"That's horrible," she said quietly. "I still feel all shaky. Do you feel this way after too?"

"Sometimes," Draco said, nodding his head, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. He felt that damned disconnected feeling distancing him from what he was looking at, from her presence next to him. Like he was sitting at the end of a long tunnel, and no matter how much he wanted to move forward he just couldn't be bothered.

Realizing what was happening, he forced himself to jerk into motion and picked up one of the mugs, holding it out to her. She sat up, crossing her legs under her, and took it.

"Thanks," she said, smiling tiredly at him.

He nodded, collecting his own, then settled back into the couch, smiling faintly as she leant against him, holding the mug against her chest. It was just so easy, he realized, glancing at her. All of it. It was just so damned easy to be here with her, to take care of her, to love her. And that frightened him more than anything else in the past couple of months because nothing in his life was ever easy—there was always a price, one that usually got other people hurt.

"Could you do me a favour?" she asked a little while later, leaning forward to put her mug down.

Draco turned and arched an eyebrow, trying to blink away the fatigue that had been slowly crawling over him. His excessive amount of shifts were harder to ignore when he was just sitting there.

"Can you tie my hair up for me?" She held up a hair elastic.

Draco stared at the band, noting its purple colour, then glanced at her hair, which for once was falling beautifully around her face.

"Maybe I like you with your hair down," he drawled, reaching out and running his fingers through it. He smirked a little as she tilted her head into his touch.

"It's been down all day," she said. "I want it out of my face."

"Fine," he said, taking the band and gesturing for her to shift over. He put his mug down as she turned her back to him, and he brought his right leg up onto the couch, shifting towards her and pressing his shin gently against her.

"How long have you lived in this flat?" she asked, looking around as he gathered her hair into his hands. There was a lot more of it than he had expected there to be. Whenever his hair was long enough it was so fine that there was barely any of it to tie back—it was why he usually kept it as short as he did. His hair, in that regard, was nothing like his father's.

"I bought it shortly after I returned to England," he said, watching the colours in her hair shift in the firelight as he combed his fingers through it.

"Why are you here, and not back in the Manor with your mother?"

"I refuse to go back there," he told her softly, closing his eyes briefly. Merlin, he was tired. "Mother tried to convince me when she found out I was back, but I'll see the place burnt to the ground before I ever set foot there again." He paused. "I'd make sure the peacocks were safe, though; they always amused me."

"I have a feeling they wouldn't like being cooped up in here," Ginny said softly, turning her head slightly to look at him. He loosened his grip on her hair but didn't let it go.

He glanced around and shrugged. "Could always do what Luna does and make them their own room."

"I'm beginning to think the two of you spend a bit too much time together," she said slowly, grinning at him. "I somehow doubt you would have thought of that before you met her."

"Probably not," he agreed as she looked back towards the telly. "Damned things would have just walked about the living room and soiled all my furniture."

Ginny laughed, yelping shortly after, and Draco allowed himself a smile as he gathered her hair firmly together and wrapped the elastic around her hair as many times as he could without damaging it.

"There," he said, flipping the subsequent tail over her shoulder.

"Thanks," she said, glancing over at him, a smile on her lips.

There was a crack from the foyer, and Draco started slightly. Ginny looked up at him in askance.

"It's probably my mother," he said, carefully getting to his feet. "Just stay here."

Without waiting for a response he hurried out of the room and into the foyer. As he had feared, his mother was just making her way towards him.

"Oh, good," she said, coming to a stop. "I was hoping that you would be home."

"Is something wrong?" he asked her, trying to see if anything was outwardly amiss, but she seemed calm and serene.

"No," she told him. "I just wanted to sit down with you and talk about what's happening."

Draco felt a sickening jolt as the reality of what was about to happen in three weeks hit him. His attempts to actively forget had kept the event on the edge of his memory, but now he felt it slam into him again, dread washing over him like a tsunami, threatening to wash him away. Frantically he thrust everything aside, focusing on who was sitting in the living room, and exactly why she had ended up there. He didn't have the luxury of reacting right now. He didn't want to add to her problems.

"This really isn't the best time, Mother," Draco said, his voice much surer than he felt. "Could we do an early dinner tomorrow instead? I will be done work by four."

"Of course," his mother said slowly, frowning at him. Her eyes flicked over him and he resisted the urge to look down or fidget. Her eyes fixed on his chest and he realized with a second jolt that he was still wearing the same jumper with the makeup stains. He silently cursed himself for not thinking to change. "You have company."

"Yes," he replied bracingly, knowing at this point that denial was useless.

She continued to stare at him, then shook her head.

"It's the Weasley girl, isn't it?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair then nodded slowly, his pulse beginning to race. He was too tired for this right now.

"I would like to meet her," his mother said brusquely, taking a step towards the living room, but Draco stepped in front of her.

"Right now is not a good time."

His mother's eyes widened.

"Did I interrupt—"

"No," he said quickly, shaking his head. "This just really isn't a good time. She's… She had a bad day."

"Draco, why can't we just—"

 _"Please,_ Mother," he said, and surprise flashed across her face. "Another time," he said more reasonably, his heart pounding against his chest now.

She stared at him, her expression closing off, and Draco felt something within him tighten, preparing for the worst. He honestly didn't care what his father would have to say about the whole situation, but his mother was another story. If she didn't approve, if she made life difficult, it would be harder to ignore… He shoved the thought aside. It didn't matter. It was his life. He was never being told what to do with it again— _ever_ —especially not by his family.

"Sometimes I don't even recognize you anymore," she said finally.

"Maybe it's because you never actually saw who I really was," he said levelly, keeping his face impassive.

Pain flashed across her face before her usual aristocratic mask took over once more. And for a moment Draco felt bad but shoved that aside too. It was, after all, the truth. She loved him—that he knew very well—but that didn't mean knowing.

"Perhaps," she said finally, nodding her head. "I will see you at Lustre at four thirty," she said, pulling out her wand. Without waiting for a response she Apparated away with a crack.

Draco stood there, staring at the spot where she had been, emptiness echoing inside of him. He had always wanted to be able to say such things when he had been younger, but he had never had the gumption. He had been terrified that they would stop loving him. But now that he was old enough, strong enough, to do so, he felt he didn't care if she did stop. Her love hadn't saved him from this fate. Maybe if she hadn't loved him so much he would have been dead and all this mess wouldn't be an issue for anyone.

He ran a hand through his hair again. Suddenly all he wanted was to be alone. Usually, he felt the need to go to Ginny, but right now, he just… he didn't want to add to what she had already been through.

"Draco?" Ginny asked from behind him, as if on cue, and he turned to find her standing in the doorway, a worried expression on her face. "Are you okay?"

He stared at her, his eyes again skimming over her tightly fitting pants and her loose camisole, which showed off an incredible amount of cleavage. Then to the sling that kept her right arm tightly against her chest—and he felt fatigue wash over him once more.

"I'm fine," he said briskly. "I'll take you home now since you're up." He felt as though the next time he sat down he wasn't rising again until he had to go to work again.

"Er…" she said, and he watched, feeling bad as her skin turned red. "Would it be alright if I just… stayed here? With you?"

Draco stared at her.

"I know that's probably not something that you do with—that you do normally, but… it would be nice just to sleep beside you."

Not something he normally did? It was more appropriate to say that it was something that he had never actually done, with the exception of when they had fallen asleep on the couch together. Or, at least, it was the first time that he was aware of. His years in America were hazy at best. Nothing he had done then had been worth remembering.

"Never mind," she said, shaking her head. "You're upset. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"What?" he asked dumbly. He was supposed to be the one keeping her from getting upset.

"Just take me home."

"You can stay here," he told her, his heart starting to pound, though he kept his face neutral. If they were both going to be upset, then they might as well be upset together. "I would like that."

"Yah?" she asked, her face lighting up. Draco knew he was staring, but he couldn't get himself to stop.

It took him a moment to realize that she was still looking at him as though expecting a response. But he didn't trust his voice, so he just nodded his head, and her smile spread a bit more.

"Then I'd better send an owl to Pagsy so that she doesn't show up tomorrow to get me ready for the day," Ginny said, glancing back towards the sitting room.

"I'm not sure if you'll need to," he said, shaking his head. "I have to be at the hospital by seven tomorrow."

"Again?" she asked, frowning at him. "Don't you ever get breaks anymore?"

"I will soon," he told her, walking past her into the living room. He paused. "What about your cat?" Feeling a lurch in his stomach when he realized what he'd asked. "Not that I care," he added hastily. "I just don't want to hear you whine about him."

"The feeder's set," she said with a little smile, and Draco cursed himself. "You won't have to hear either of us whine about it."

"I'd better not," he grumbled, then waved his wand and cleaned up the mugs, put out the fire, and turned off the telly. He turned to find Ginny staring at him with shock on her face.

"I've only ever seen Hermione manage something like that," she said, glancing around his flat once more as if seeing it through new eyes. He couldn't help but smirk a little and feel a little thrill at the praise.

"Don't look so surprised, Weasley," he drawled. "I'm excellent at everything I do."

"Your ability to be modest seems to be lacking," she pointed out.

"I just choose not to be," he said with an imperious wave. He flicked off the lights and took her hand, leading her towards his bedroom, pausing so she could grab her purse.

It wasn't a long walk, but for the first time, it felt like a mile and with every step closer Draco felt panic prickle more instantly at his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. The reality of what was about to happen was slowly sinking in. It was one thing to accidentally fall asleep beside her, but it was an entirely different thing to do so willingly. In his bed. He had a hard enough time keeping his hands to himself when they were properly dressed.

But even as he thought about all that could happen he also realized how tired he actually was, how much weight was in his limbs, how slowly his mind was working, and how sore his eyes were from being open for so long. It was as though his mind was shutting down as precautionary measure—or he had finally reached the point where his body refused anything more, even if that more was in the form of Ginny Weasley in his bed. And with that revelation he realized that she and Luna were right to be worried about him: he was exhausted.

They reached the door and he flicked on the lamp, leading her in. He glanced around at the darkly painted walls, the king-sized bed with the mountain of pillows and delightfully thick duvet, and the heavy curtains in front of the window. The bed had been one of the first things he had bought for himself when he had been able, wanting to never relive his years in America when he slept on whatever, whenever.

"Erm, do you have a shirt or something that I can wear?" Ginny asked, drawing his sluggish mind back to the present.

"Why?" he asked her, smirking despite himself. "Your knickers should be sufficient, should they not?"

"I hate sleeping without a top on," she said, making a face at him. Draco was torn between laughing and cursing himself for saying anything at all. Because now the image was in his head, damnit.

"Maybe we'll have to work on that," he told her, opening a drawer and pulling out one of his few t-shirts. He grinned as he handed it to her, and she just shook her head.

"Don't push your luck, Malfoy," she said, looking curiously down on the shirt. "What's a Led Zeppelin?"

"I'll show you some time," he told her, then pointed her towards the ensuite, which she disappeared into a moment later.

Draco stood there for a moment, staring at the now closed door, then forced himself into action before he could do something stupid, like send her home. He went into the hall bathroom and went through his usual routine of getting ready for bed, then returned to the bedroom. He took off his clothes, putting them on the chair beside the dresser, then distastefully pulled on pyjama bottoms. He hated wearing much of anything to bed, preferring just to charm the bed warm than bundle up—but he didn't want to be too forward.

He turned to find Ginny standing a couple feet away, looking small in the black shirt, which fell to halfway down her thighs. His eyes flicked over her, his eyes travelling up her incredibly shapely legs until they disappeared under the top, and lingered there for the briefest of moments. Bloody. Hell.

He dragged his eyes up to hers, only to find that she was assessing him in a similar fashion. And if Draco was being honest with himself, he would have admitted to feeling briefly insecure as she did so, but he knew the time spent in the gym and going running had more than just mental health benefits. Her eyes fixed on his chest, and Draco glanced down, noting the large, depressed scar across his upper chest. He had almost forgotten it. But, as he looked back at her, he knew that she would not. He should have put a damned top on.

"What's this?" she asked him, stepping forward. She reached up, her delicate fingers brushing gently across the imperfect flesh.

"It's nothing," he told her automatically, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips.

"Draco," she said, frowning up at him. "What was it from?"

He stared at her for a moment, then released her hand, pushing his hair back out of his face.

 _"Sectumsempra,"_ he said finally.

 _"Sectum_ —but that's Snape and Harry's spell," she said, looking confused.

"I know."

"But—" She cut off abruptly, her eyes widening. _"Harry_ did this to you?"

Draco stared at her for a moment, then nodded his head once.

"I'd heard you two had had a duel and things went sideways, but I had no idea."

"No one does, really," he said indifferently. "And Snape's not around anymore to tell."

Ginny raised her hand and again ran her fingers across the length of the scar. Draco closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of them gently travelling across his skin.

"You've been through so much," she told him softly.

"I deserved it," he replied automatically, and her fingers froze.

"When are you going to forgive yourself?" she asked him quietly. "How many people do you need to save before you can just move on and be your own person?"

Draco opened his eyes and looked down at her. She was looking earnestly up at him, sadness in her eyes.

"I don't know," he told her truthfully, again the words just flowing out of him like they always did. "Maybe when this hollow feeling in my chest goes away."

Ginny flattened her hand against his chest, over his heart, and smiled sadly at him. His pulse picked up and he wondered if she could tell.

"That won't happen without forgiveness," she whispered at him. "You can't move forward without it. There's no room for love if your heart is full of hate, even if it's for yourself."

Draco reached up and gripped her hand.

"I don't know if that's possible," he said whispered back.

"It is," she told him, sadness and hope swimming in her eyes. "I've forgiven you. So have Luna and Harry. Even Bill has. It's been ten years, Draco. Isn't a decade of hatred enough? You've done so much good in this time, fill your heart with that instead."

Draco's throat tightened almost painfully, his chest swelling with the most incredible warmth. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but as his heart pounded, his breath slightly ragged, he found he couldn't utter a word. For the first time, the truth wouldn't come out.

So instead he leant down and pressed his lips softly against hers.

Ginny's fingers curled around his, squeezing, but while her lips were warm and pliant she didn't try to compete with him; she just let him kiss her. And somehow that made the warmth in his chest heat up even more.

When Draco finally pulled away they were both breathless. He rested his forehead against hers, exhaustion rolling over him in waves that threatened to knock him off his feet where he stood. He forced his eyes open and found her looking at him, her cheeks pink, and a soft smile on her lips. Before he could return it she stifled a yawn, and he felt a smirk tug at his lips instead.

"Did I wear you out, Weasley?" he asked, then yawned himself.

"I think I could ask you the same thing," she said, smiling tenderly at him. She squeezed his hand, which, he realized absently, he was still pressing against his chest.

"It's called mirroring, Weasley," he told her, shaking his head. "It's one of the reasons humans have empathy."

"So you're not tired at all?" she asked him.

"Not even a bit," he lied.

"Because I think your glamours have worn off, and the bags under your eyes are telling me otherwise."

He scowled at her, but the expression didn't hold as she yawned again, turning her face into her shoulder.

"You took your potions, didn't you?" he asked, glancing over at the bed. It seemed so far away.

"Yah," she said, ducking her eyes tiredly. "Sorry."

"If you're going to be in my bed, I'd rather you not look back and remember being in pain."

She snorted. "It is going to be a painful enough experience as it is," she said, jabbing him in the chest with her finger, making him jump. "I'll be surrounded by your ferrety smell."

"Think how I'll feel," he told her, forcing himself into action and turning her about and herding her towards the side of the bed. He pulled back the duvet and helped her get in. "My bed is going to smell like Weasley."

"Poor Malfoy," she said, shifting over. He hesitated then climbed in after her. "Life sure is hard sometimes, isn't it?"

"You have no idea," he said, waving his wand to turn out the lights. He placed it on the nightstand, then turned to find her resting on her side with her back to him. He hadn't considered their orientation.

Draco stilled, half asleep but rigidly awake all of a sudden, and his eyes traced over her back and shoulders. There was a scant half foot between them, but something was holding him in place. Like there was some invisible divide and as soon as he breached it everything would change. Did he want it to change? He was just getting used to whatever this was. He stared at her for a few moments longer, his heart in his throat, then he stiffened his resolve and shifted closer, carefully pulling her back against his chest as tightly as he could.

"Hi," she whispered, shifting against him as warmth exploded across his skin. He was struck by how comfortably she fit against him. How perfectly wonderful it was to be able to just hold her in his arms.

"Hi, back," he managed to reply as her scent began to surround him. Draco waited another moment, but when she didn't say anything more he pressed his face against her neck. He took a deep breath, and, despite how unsettled he was, how hard his heart was pounding, he felt himself relax. Ginny Weasley— _his_ Ginny Weasley, for by Merlin they were _dating?_ —was laying in his bed—in his _arms_ —of her own freewill. She was with him. Bloody hell, she was with _him._

And dear Merlin, he loved it so much that his chest ached with it. An ache he couldn't even describe. His best guess was that it felt like coming home. And he finally understood why people cared so much about such things.

"Night, Draco," she said in a barely audible whisper.

"Night, Gin," he whispered back, closing his eyes, a smile finally spreading across his lips.

—o—

"Ginny," someone said firmly, the odd tone of their voice sending a thrill of alarm through her. "Wake up!"

"Wha?" she asked groggily, struggling to escape the hold sleep had on her. She blinked, trying to focus on the dimly-lit room around her. It took her a moment to realize that it wasn't hers, and it wasn't her living room either. She felt a second flare of alarm go through her but settled almost as quickly as the person beside her leant over, looking down at her with concern. "Draco?"

"Hey," he said, moving his hand off of her shoulder to push some of the hair away from her face. The motion was so tender that it startled her. This whole afternoon and evening had startled her. "Are you all right?"

"I…" she trailed off, her eyes lingering on the signs of exhaustion she saw on his face and in his eyes. He looked worn thin, and the worry wasn't helping that.

She closed her eyes briefly, thinking back, but all she could see was the distant memory of spider-like fingers across her breast and snapped her eyes back open, trying to look indifferent; though she could feel her pulse beginning to race. "I had a nightmare and woke you, didn't I?"

Draco nodded his head, his eyes still worried, though his face was now impassive, under control once more.

"Sorry," she said automatically, twisting about and sitting up, forcing him to move back away from her. She was both relieved and disappointed that he did, but shoved the feeling back from her mind. "Sleeping in new places makes them happen sometimes. I should have warned you."

"I'm sorry," he said, sitting up as well, the blankets falling away to expose his bare chest, the pink-hued scar glaringly obvious against his pale skin. It hurt her to look at it. She wondered if Harry knew he had it, and if he would feel bad for it.

"You don't need to apologize for that," she said. "I'm sorry for not warning you. I didn't think I'd wake you."

"You've had these before?" he asked, watching her face. "This wasn't from what happened today?"

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head, leaning back against the headboard. She absently began to run her fingers across the edge of the duvet. The sheets were sinfully soft, a different sort of soft from the shirt he had given her, which was well-worn—vintage-soft, she thought it was called, though to her it just felt like home: hand-me-downs and sizes too big. "I didn't even think to say anything. Harry always slept right through them."

"Did he even know you had them?"

There was something in his eyes that she couldn't quite identify, but it made her feel uneasy. It was too intense. So she looked down at the blanket.

"I don't think so," she finally replied softly. "Or at least, he never brought them up if he did." She shrugged. "It's not a big deal, really. It just is what it is."

"But what is it?" he asked, his voice curiously neutral.

She glanced up at him and smiled slightly.

"Nothing. Just an old ghost that's never left."

"Sounds like some terrifying ghost."

"He's definitely matured with me," she said softly without realizing it, the memory of unwanted touches and of a voice speaking softly, seductively in her ear. She repressed a shudder, shoving the memory of the dream as far down as she could like she always did. "But I don't let him get to me. I don't dream about him all that often anymore."

"He?"

"It's not a big deal," she said dismissively, sliding back down under the covers and turning so her back was to him. She rolled over slightly and looked up at him. "Can we just go back to sleep?"

His eyes searched hers, then finally he turned, putting out the light, and slid down beside her. He fluffed his pillow before settling down, gathering her into his arms like he had before, and pulled her firmly back against him. Both his arms went right around her this time, so his hands were gently on each of her shoulders, and he buried his face into her hair until his forehead connected with the back of her shoulder. It was down again, and she realized that he must have pulled the elastic out at some point while she was sleeping.

She took a deep breath and relaxed against him, letting his warmth and the steadiness of his breathing even out her own.

She stared vacantly across the dark room, her mind starting to spin with the day's events as she hadn't let them before. Between what she had seen in the glass to her apparent panic attack, she wasn't quite sure what to think. And she was horrified that seeing Draco's face had triggered it.

She was used to him sometimes looking like his father, but she hadn't had any problems with that before. That he couldn't help. However, seeing him like that, like how Flint had looked while wearing his face, that was terrifying. More terrifying than anything Tom had been able to throw at her. More terrifying than the idea of what Flint could have actually done to her when she had been in his control. It was the idea that seeing Draco, someone that she was beginning to become very fond of, could trigger such a reaction. She didn't want that for herself, and she certainly didn't want it for him.

"I have nightmares too sometimes," he told her, his voice startling her. She turned her head to look at him, but he kept his forehead pressed against her shoulder. "Ever… ever since I took the Dark Mark… ever since I met _him."_ He paused, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. She could only imagine what that must have been like. To meet Tom at that stage, to be so close to him. Seeing him outside Hogwarts had been frightening enough.

"Sometimes it's about the things he made me do," he continued, his voice soft. "Or the things I did on my own. Or sometimes it's the Fiendfyre, watching Crabbe… Back when they were fresh it didn't matter how drunk I was, or how stoned, if I didn't pass out I still dreamt, I couldn't escape them…."

Ginny felt something in her chest tighten, and she awkwardly took hold of the top of his hand, which was still gently holding onto her shoulder.

It was one thing to think about how he had been around Tom and his ilk in the abstract, but to actually hear him speak about it was an entirely different thing. She could hear the remnants of the pain and the fear in his voice. He had just been a boy—a horribly spoilt boy, but a boy nonetheless. What would he have become if he had been born into a different family or a different time?

"I dream about Tom too," she said softly. "The things he made me do, the things he did to me." She hesitated. "But as I've gotten older the things got more mature, more… intimate. Things an eleven year old girl should never be able to fathom, and of which I wish I could say the same now."

Draco's grip around her tightened, and she wished that the action could quell the silent panic in the back of her mind.

"Wait," he said after a moment. "How do you have those memories? How could an eleven year old you have met him? He didn't have a body until my fourth year."

Ginny took a deep breath. It was going to come out eventually, wasn't it?

"Do you remember when the Chamber of Secrets was opened?" she asked him. She felt him nod against her shoulder. "Your—your father slipped me a diary in Flourish and Blotts before term. It was the first Horcrux Tom had created and it had the biggest chunk of his soul inside. And me, being the naive little girl that I was, thought that the diary that wrote back to me was my friend.

"While the later Horcruxes could affect your mood, the one in the diary was so powerful that he managed to take me over and he made me do terrible things"—she hesitated—"and in the end, he was able to get himself out of the diary by taking my life-force. If Harry hadn't come down and saved me, not only would I have been dead, but a 16 year old version of Voldemort would have been running around in my place."

Draco's breathing shifted against her skin, his chest moving faster against her back, though his grip didn't change.

"He used you," he said softly. "How could my father have done that to you?"

"To be honest, I don't think he realized what he had given me," Ginny said. "I imagine he suffered greatly when Tom figured out that the diary had been destroyed. I think he just thought it would be a good way to get back at my father for all those raids he'd done that summer. Get rid of some Muggle-borns and associate my family name with the Dark Lord."

"Don't do that," Draco said harshly, jerking his head up. Ginny twisted about in surprise to look at him. He was glaring at her furiously. "Don't make excuses for him."

"I'm not," she snapped, her heart pounding against her chest. "And they're not for him, they're for me."

She took a breath, then continued with a more reasonable tone, "I decided a long time ago that I was going to let the past rest, that what happened was no longer going to taint my heart. Like I said, you can't have love in your heart if it's full of hate. And part of that came down to no longer seeing your father as a monster. He's human, just like us—and yes, he made a huge mistake that hurt me, but I'm not going to let him continue to do so. He's not worth the headspace."

Draco stared at her then dipped his head, kissing her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said, kissing it again. And again. "I just hate the idea that he hurt you."

"It is what it is," Ginny replied, smiling bravely at him, then turning back around, and resettling herself against him, focusing on the heat of his body, the spicy scent of his cologne. He tightened his arms around her, kissing her shoulder a few more times before he relaxed again behind her.

Ginny looked down on his arms, and she could just see the hints of the scars along his forearm. She reached up and absently rubbed at them and his arm spasmed underneath her touch but didn't pull away. After a moment he released his grip on her shoulder and lay his arm out on the mattress, allowing her access to all of it. She gently ran her fingers over the imperfect skin, and she could feel his muscles shifting underneath. Ginny got the feeling that he was trying very hard to keep his arm immobile for her.

It was such an angry series of marks: raised and crisscrossed and deep. She couldn't imagine the pain it would have caused. And for all the effort, she could still see parts of the Dark Mark here and there; not discernible to anyone who didn't know what it was, but a dead giveaway to anyone who did.

"Why did you do it?" she asked softly.

He was silent for a long while, and when she finally looked over it was to see him staring blankly at the air in front of himself.

"I wanted it to be done," Draco said finally. "I just wanted the pain to stop. But I was too much of a coward to do it properly, so I just tried to… cut the damned thing out." He hesitated. "I was too stoned at the time to think properly, but I think I thought it would be enough to bleed out."

"But it wasn't."

"Oh, it probably was," he said lightly, shrugging, the motion making her move with him. "But someone found me and called an ambulance. And you know the rest."

Ginny stared back down at the scars, her ears ringing. He had tried to kill himself. Had tried… her mind stuttered to a stop, terrified by what she was going to ask next, but knew she had to.

"Have you tried again since?" she whispered, scared of the question, even more terrified of the answer.

"No," he said, rounding out the word in an odd way. He tensed up behind her. "But I can't say that I haven't thought about it."

Ginny felt a stab of fear go through her, tears welling up in her eyes. The thought that he could try again, that he could leave her—

"How often?" she managed to say normally, desperate to not let him know how upset she was. He would stop speaking if he knew. He would try and protect her from this, but she refused to be kept safe from what was in his mind.

"Depends," he said, shrugging again. "But it's been about a year since I last seriously contemplated it."

A year wasn't nearly long enough, Ginny realized desperately. It just all struck too close to home. She had been terrified that George would try, would just stop and escape the pain once and for all. She still was sometimes, especially when she saw him when he thought no one was looking. And now it seemed like she was falling for someone who felt the same way.

"I've adapted some Muggle drugs, and they seem to be helping," he continued after a long pause, as though he feared what was actually running through her head. "They seem to be having a positive impact on a lot of the patients, actually." He pressed his forehead against the back of her shoulder once more. "I feel all right most days now."

"And the days you don't?"

"I deal," he said firmly, and Ginny sensed not to push at it.

So instead she just stared across the room once more, a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. She started slightly as Draco pulled his right hand away and began to run his fingers across the skin of her bunk arm. They looped here and there in a random pattern, and she closed her eyes, trying to figure out what it was.

"You really have a problem, Weasley," he said, sounding more like himself.

She opened an eye and turned her head to look at him. His grey eyes were focused on her arm.

"These freckles seem to be spreading."

Ginny reached up and ineffectually batted at his hand, but he persisted.

"Stop it, you git," she said, finally giving up and simply nestling herself more comfortably against him.

He eventually stopped, replacing his arm around her and pulling her close, pressing a kiss onto the back of her head. Ginny let her eyes slide shut once more, and drifted back off to sleep.

—o—

 **A/N:** See, crap chapter. Le sigh. The scar scene was (unintentionally) inspired by **aqvarelles** drawing "Sectumsempra" at Deviant Art: /Sectumsempra-313184892/ which, after I rediscovered it, realized why these images were in my head.

Anyhoo, Happy Holidays to everyone and all the best in the New Year! Let's hope 2017 is better—much better, like fantastically better—because the bar really isn't set that high after this dumpster fire of a year. Though I'm not going to lie, I'm quite fearful of how things are going to turn out—but I guess we'll just have to face it when it comes. Love, compassion, and peace to all.


	10. Chapter 10 - Breaking the Cycle

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

A/N: I'm not dead! And neither is this story! Yay!

Disclaimer: I claim nothing to be my own, other than this ever so slightly original plot.

 **Somewhere I Belong**

 **Chapter 10**

 **Breaking the Cycle**

—o—

Ginny listened to the sounds of someone getting ready around her as she drifted in and out of sleep. The shower had run, closets and drawers had been pulled open and then closed. There was the movement of fabrics and the sound of hair being brushed, then the bedroom door opened and was closed softly.

She rolled over, burying her face into the pillows, breathing in deeply. The scent of Draco surrounded her, and she felt an idiotic grin spread across her lips. Despite the circumstance of the night before, Ginny felt elated.

After their conversation she had drifted in and out of sleep, as she often did after a nightmare. Historically, there were times that it was so bad she just got up and went for a run, no matter the time. But whenever she had woken up this time it was to the sensation of being surrounded: by hands holding her firmly against a solid chest; surrounded by the scent that her mind was rapidly associating with safety, and surrounded by something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She hadn't felt the need to run away. And it had been wonderful.

Harry had never been a very snuggly person; he got too warm or too crowded. So if she would snuggle with him it had always been with a time limit, or on his terms. Apparently Harry had snuggled her when she was already asleep, but she had never woken up in the middle of those supposed snuggles to have proof of such a claim. She knew she could sleep like the dead, but you would think at some point over the three years she would have woken up in his arms. So to wakeup again and again to Draco holding her was almost surreal, but also made her feel incredibly secure, more so than she ever remembered feeling before, nightmare or no.

The door opening again drew her from her thoughts, and she listened as someone quietly approached the her.

"Gin," Draco said softly. "It's time to get up."

"Don't wanna," she muttered honestly into the pillow, refusing to open her eyes. She would be perfectly content if he just left her there for the rest of the day.

"You didn't tell me that you were this sort of morning person," he said, sitting down on the bed beside her.

"I'm not. These potions make me really groggy," she replied. "I'm usually accused of being an insufferable morning person."

"Insufferable?"

Ginny nodded. "Singing, kicking people out of bed, going for a run. But now I can't."

"You really are on forced vacation."

"You have no idea."

He snorted.

"If you get up now you'll have time for food before we leave."

"You could have started with that," she grumbled, finally forcing her eyes open properly, turning her head.

She looked up at him blearily, blinking in the light from the hall. He looked as perfect as usual, dressed in Healer robes with glamours hiding any imperfection or hint of sleep deprivation.

"Hi," he said, looking at her intently.

"Hi, back," she replied, turning her face back into the pillow to hide a yawn. "What's for breakfast?" she asked as she looked back up at him.

"You know, I think food is going to have to be my go-to from now on," he drawled, gently brushing some hair from her face. "Perhaps I'll start keeping snacks in my pockets, just to entice you."

"I'm not that easy," she said, scowling at him as a smirk spread across his face. "Well, I'm not."

"Just keep telling yourself that, Weasley," he said fondly, brushing more hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. She felt butterflies go on a frenzy through her stomach and chest.

His fingers trailed slowly behind her ear, then came around so that his hand was holding the side of her jaw, his thumb running so gently across her lips that she barely felt it.

Ginny closed her eyes briefly, trying to calm the sudden pounding of her heart. When she looked at him again there was the oddest expression on his face. It was almost dumbfounded, if she had to give it a name, but that wasn't quite what it was either. She stared back at him, trying to figure it out, smiling ever so slightly.

He glanced away from her, pulling his hand back to himself and sitting back. Ginny felt disappointment go through her, but she tried to ignore it as best she could.

"Do you need help getting ready?"

"Er, no," she said, glancing around. "I should be okay, thanks."

"All right," he said, getting to his feet. "But if you change your mind I'll be on my best behaviour. I am a Healer, you know." There was an odd gleam to his eyes as he stared at her, and she bit at her lip.

"Why don't I trust you when you have that face on?"

"I have no idea, Weasley," he said, a smirk spreading across his lips. "I don't even know what you're talking about."

After he had left the room, and fumbling about for a handful of minutes, Ginny finally got her jeans back on and had ordered her hair. She had taken one look at her camisole and had given up before she even started. There was no way she was getting into her bra on her own, and she didn't quite want to take Draco up on his offer. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, she just wasn't… she didn't even know. This was all so new. She wasn't quite sure if she trusted any of it yet, but at the same time she did.

"You know, I said you could borrow my shirt, not keep it," Draco said as she walked into the kitchen a little while later. He was sitting at a small table in front of some tall windows which offered a breathtaking view of London. There were still lights glimmering in the dull grey morning, peeking through the fog along the Thames.

"I'll give it back," she said dismissively as she glanced around the kitchen. It was all modern lines and steel and grey, filled with Muggle appliances and punctuated by healthy looking green plants and a bowl of fruit. Despite the time she had been spending with him, the space still surprised her. It all just looked so not Malfoy. But then, that was part of why she was here, wasn't she?

When she looked back at him, he was arching an eyebrow, getting to his feet. She felt a grin tug at her lips. "Eventually," she concluded.

"Am I going to have to keep an eye on my wardrobe?" he asked, walking the short distance towards her, taking her hand loosely in his. After a moment's hesitation, he leant down and pressed his lips against hers briefly, making her heart thud against her chest.

"Only if you have more shirts like this," she said, smiling up at him as he pulled back. "It reminds me of home." He frowned at her. "I mostly grew up in hand-me-downs that were about five sizes too big," she elaborated with a shrug.

"Is that why you walk around in those huge sweaters all the time?" he asked, and sadness welled up within her. She wondered at how someone could ask about them so casually when they meant so much to her and her family. But he didn't know. Couldn't know.

"Sort of," she said softly, smiling up at him, though she knew it didn't quite reach her eyes. "The sweaters were Fred's. So they're more about remembering him than home… though I suppose that's tied up in there too."

Draco stared at her for a moment, confusion flickering across his face before his eyes widened slightly.

"Your brother," he said simply.

"Yah," she said, then looked away towards the table. "You said that there was food?"

When she glanced back up at him it was to find him frowning. But after a few moments he just nodded, his hand again finding the small of her back. He silently led her over to the table, helping her onto the rather high stool before taking a seat across from her. There were eggs and toast and an assortment of fruit on her plate, and after Draco gestured at her she began her attack.

"So, how are they?" he asked, as though the surprised expression on her face didn't give it away. How could eggs taste so good?

"Amazing," she said honestly. "How did you learn to cook so well?"

Draco looked pleased for a moment then glanced out the window. "I've got a lot of time on my hands."

Ginny observed his profile: the straight line of his nose, which was almost too long; the pointedness of his chin under pale pink lips; how his light coloured hair couldn't quite cast shadows across his face. She wanted to ask him about it, to talk about the time he had on his hands. About how he didn't seem to have much of a life—that he didn't seem to really live…

"I thought that you read the paper in the morning," Ginny said, more to distract herself from her thoughts than anything else.

"Hmm?" Draco asked, looking back at her. "Oh, I do. It's just rude to read when you have guests."

"You don't need to change your routine like that for me," Ginny said, automatically. She didn't like formalities like that.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," he replied with a slight smirk, returning to his food.

"You think there'll be a next time?" she asked, but couldn't keep the stupid grin off her face as she said it.

"Are you saying that there won't be?"

"No," she replied, filling her mouth with food so that she couldn't say anything else right away.

Draco shook his head, his lips twisting as he tried to look at her seriously, but failed dismally.

Ginny smiled back at him, and continued to busy herself with eating as much of the food as possible. When she had finished she moved to clear the plates, but Draco caught her hand and stood up beside her.

"Leave them," he said.

She glanced up at him, only to find his expression neutral once more. His eyes searched hers for a moment.

"I—" he cut off and pressed his lips together. Then he leant down and pressed his lips firmly against her forehead.

Ginny blinked in surprise, then closed her eyes. His lips lingered on her skin, so she slipped her hand around his waist, stepping into his space, moulding her body against his. She rested her ear against his chest and his heartbeat filled her ear, steady but quickening. A moment later his arms came up around her as well, his chin again coming to rest on the top of her head as it had the evening before.

"I really do fancy you, Weasley," he said, the sound rumbling through his chest as he spoke. That stupid-arse grin tugged at her lips, but she tried to keep it to herself.

"I'm rather fond of you as well," she replied.

"Only rather fond?" he asked, leaning back so he could look at her, his eyebrow arched. She tilted her head back, trying to hide her grin, her eyes locking with his.

"Hmm, maybe a bit more," she replied, closing her eyes as he brushed his lips against hers.

About twenty minutes later, Ginny found herself sitting at the kitchen island in her flat. She was waiting for the kettle to pop, while absently poking at her lips. Her fireplace flared to life, and she glanced over her shoulder, mentally sighing before turning back around and putting tea into the ball.

"Care to tell me what this is about?" Ron demanded, throwing the _Daily Prophet_ down beside her.

Ginny glanced down to see herself and Draco strolling down Diagon Alley, hand in hand, laughing about something. She smiled faintly. The Draco in the picture was glancing up at the real her and smiling more. Damn him and his smile.

"Hi, Brother," she said, turning to smile at him. "I'm doing great this morning, how are you?"

"Not that great, Gin," Ron said, scowling. "Especially when Rose wakes me up to show me the paper and ask why her aunty is secretly dating someone named Malfoy."

Ginny glanced back down on the paper, and, sure enough, the caption under the picture said exactly that.

"Hmm," Ginny replied. "Interesting. I wasn't aware that we were." Well, prior to when this picture was taken at least, she thought, carefully keeping a straight face. And frankly, it hadn't been a secret: it had been more like accidental dating…

"What the hell, Gin!"

She sighed and turned to look at him properly.

"You saw us together yesterday," she told him. "Why is this"—she waved her hand towards the paper—"such a surprise?"

"Because you didn't tell me you were dating the git!"

"No," she said slowly. "I didn't."

"Why not?"

She stared at him pointedly. "Because you might have reacted just like this?"

"Ginny!" he all but shrieked, his face contorting with anguish, shaking his head no.

"Ron!" she finally snapped. "It's the bloody _Prophet!_ I believe a couple of months ago they were insinuating that I was sleeping around with half the men on Puddlemere United. Why weren't you over here in a snit then?"

"Because that was just tosh."

"And this isn't?"

"You look so damned…"

Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"Happy," he said grudgingly.

"Right," Ginny said slowly, nodding her head. "And this is a bad thing because…?"

"Because he's bloody Malfoy, that's why!" Ron burst out. "He's had it out for me and Harry since he met us! And he's a bloody Death Eater!"

"Was," Ginny said flatly.

"What?"

"He was a Death Eater, Ron. He isn't one anymore."

"Just because he tried to—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence in that tone," she snapped, slamming her hand flat down on the counter before she realized she'd moved.

To her slight surprise, Ron shut his mouth, but it didn't stem the anger that was simmering under her skin. It set something off in her mind.

"What kind of person do you take me for?" she demanded. "Do you think that I am incapable of deciding who is good enough to be in my life?" She silenced the voice reminding her that she had had to say this very thing to the blond in question. "Don't you trust me?"

"But he's Malfoy," Ron said weakly, his face turning pale, though his ears were beginning to burn red.

"Yah," Ginny said shortly, putting her hand on her hip. "I know."

"And you're dating him."

"I never said that." Really, she hadn't. "We went on _a_ date. With Luna."

"Luna wasn't in the photos," Ron said, shaking his head, gaining solid ground once more. "And she wasn't at Fred and George's shop."

Ginny felt a pang go through her at his use of Fred's name. It had been almost a decade, and they all still did it. To not mention Fred when talking about WWW seemed an insult to the whole establishment. He was still there, in a way. Always would be. She was pretty sure it was part of the reason George hadn't closed shop after the war, though most people understandably would have.

"No," Ginny said, pushing thoughts of Fred aside for a second time that morning. "She wasn't. We went out on our own afterwards."

"See!" Ron burst out.

"So what?" Ginny finally snapped, throwing her hand up into the air. "So I get along with the ferret! Big deal! He's changed, Ron. A lot. Something you might want to look into doing yourself."

Ron opened his mouth, his expression scandalized, then his face crumpled into a stubborn pout.

"I knew there was something going on when they sent him that damned letter and not Dad," he said mutinously. Then he grimaced, looking a little ill. "I'm going to end up related to the damned git, aren't I?"

"What?" Ginny choked, but Ron's expression didn't relent at all. "I don't know how you got that idea into your head. I don't see how one date leads to that."

"It's not the date," Ron grumbled, leaving the kitchen and walking back towards the fireplace. Ginny glanced at the clock and realized that he must have been late for work. "It's the damned look on your face during the date. It's the same one you used to wear around Harry, but happier."

Ginny turned completely in her seat, staring at him dumbstruck.

"And the worst part is," he continued, grabbing some Floo powder. "He's got the same damned look on his face too." He shook his head, his ears brilliantly red. "But you're right: it's your life, and you're an intelligent and rational person. I just don't like it."

Ginny opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her brother had already disappeared into the green flames. So instead she looked down on the paper he had left, and, smiling faintly, got up to get the scissors.

—o—

Draco moved about the ER, keeping his eyes fixedly on the wound he was cleaning. He had been keeping a very close eye on his work all day, and had even taken his lunch in his office, closing the door to keep everyone else out. While he had been able to hide the morning's ridiculous paper from Ginny, he hadn't been able to hide it from anyone else, including his bloody co-workers. Or the patients in the hospital.

"I just can't believe it," several had whispered behind his back, the fragile truce they had established no barrier against their opinions. "How could someone from such a good family pair up with him?"

"He's changed," someone else had whispered. "But I still wouldn't trust him like she is."

"It's Stockholm Syndrome. Has to be. Why else?"

"She's way too good for him"—that one Draco wholeheartedly agreed with.

"He's got her under some sort of spell; it's the only explanation."

He heard whispers that were worse, many the same, but few that sounded anything positive. Which was fine. Really. It wasn't like he had expected much different from people. However, he didn't want _her_ to hear any of these things. He didn't want her to be pulled down with him. It was bad enough that she was wasting her time on him.

He sighed, glancing at the runes as he worked. Luckily, or not so luckily given the content, he had plenty in his mind to keep himself distracted. What Ginny had told him about Riddle had shocked him. Once again the foundation of his life, his childhood, was shifting beneath his feet, and he was helpless to do anything about it. His hatred towards his father and Potter seemed to reach a crescendo as he thought about her eyes when he had first managed to wake her. Despite his father's role in it all, he had a feeling he hated Potter more than his father somehow.

How could he not realize that she was having nightmares? She hadn't been quiet last night. And she had sounded so scared. He had been afraid that someone was in the room with them, attacking her beside him. How could Potter have slept right through that? Or worse yet, considered her scared whimpers and cries nothing to be concerned with?

But then, their marriage, and her nightmares, would have been right after the war. Everyone at that time had had nightmares, as he personally knew all too well. But damnit, he didn't want to be charitable towards the git. He wanted his righteous anger and to continue to live in a world where Potter was a right arse. It was bad enough that he had come into his own life and made things better.

So with another glance at the runes he pushed the thoughts from his mind and instead focused on how he had woken up this morning: in his bed, warmer than he remembered ever being, with red filling his vision, tickling his nose. His heart thudded once, hard against his chest, as the sensory information rose again in his memory, and he struggled not to smile. Despite everything, if he could wake up like that for the rest of his life, he would do near anything. And that, given his history, was a terrifying thought.

"That should do it, Gail," Draco said to the little girl whose scratched up arm he was mending. "No more jumping out of trees, okay?"

"Okay," the little girl replied, nodding her head. Her father helped her down from the bed as Draco proceeded to explain what the man would have to do for her over the next couple of days. Then he was left alone, with no distractions and the whispering he really didn't want to hear.

He glanced around, hoping there would be a patient, but there were none in sight. So with a sigh he began cleaning up after himself. Something the nurses typically did, but he couldn't handle being idle right now.

"Hi, Draco," he heard Luna say dreamily a short while later. He turned to find her approaching him, leading along a man with a bloodied arm wrapped in a tea towel. Surprise flashed briefly across the man's face, but was gone so quickly Draco thought he must have imagined it.

"Loon," he said, frowning as he looked from her to the person she was with.

He wasn't a handsome man by any means, and he had an air of awkwardness about him that screamed Hufflepuff. But he did have striking features, including a pair of intensely dark blue eyes behind plastic framed glasses. He was thickly muscled but lanky, standing nearly a head taller than Luna, making her look more willowy than she normally did. His clothing was awkward as well, Muggle jeans and a sweater that looked a couple years out of style.

He wasn't at all what Draco had expected. But, come to think about it, he never knew what to expect when it came to Luna. He wondered what about this man's soul attracted him to her.

Draco leant forward and kissed her cheek, glancing her over. Despite the state of her companion, she looked fine.

"This is Rolf," she said, gesturing towards the other man.

The infamous Rolf Scamander moved to shake his hand then realized that he was still holding the towel.

"We'll have to do this later," he replied cheerfully in a heavy American accent that startled Draco. He had assumed he was British. He supposed that explained his fashion sense, or lack thereof. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Draco said, then gestured towards his arm. "What happened?"

"Reg bit him," Luna said, a small frown on her face, as though her bloody teacup dragon couldn't have possibly been the vicious, murderous creature he actually was. Draco made a point of avoiding her animal room simply because of that monster's presence therein. Which made him a little sad, because the idea of a teacup dragon was quite appealing. The reality, however, not appealing at all.

"It was entirely my fault," Scamander said airily, a goofy grin on his face that Draco instantly disliked. "I was distracted when I shouldn't have been."

"Still, he shouldn't have done that," Luna said, shaking her head. "He's usually so sweet-natured. I'm going to have to have a conversation with him."

"There's no need, Luna," Scamander assured her, his tone grating on Draco's nerves. It was just too… cheerful? "It was my fault. I knew better than to make so much noise."

Draco just watched them, wondering if he had stepped into some alternate reality. A reality where someone other than Luna thought that creature was cuddly and loveable. Reg was as cold-hearted as the Dark Lord, and as attractive to boot. Why she kept it around he had no idea—though he supposed he couldn't really comment, because she kept him around too. But, to be fair, he was a lot prettier.

"Well, let's get it checked out," Draco said, and led them both over to an empty bed. He and Luna both helped Scamander up onto the bed, who thanked them happily, and the nurse brought over a rolling table for the man to rest his arm on. When Draco pulled the towel away it was to reveal several long gashes.

"I knew that thing was a terror," Draco muttered, shaking his head as he poked and prodded the bloodied mess that was Scamander's arm. Surprisingly, the other man did not flinch, and Draco wondered if he was dumb enough to get mauled on a regular basis.

"It's a good thing you came in when you did," he said after a few moments of silent investigation. "Reg not only mauled your arm, but his venom is in your system as well. Much longer and you might have had permanent damage."

"See, I told you we should come see Draco," Luna said, smiling at both of them in turn.

Draco nodded absently, stepping away and calling a nurse over to get some anti-venom.

When he turned back Luna was pushing Scamander's hair back, offering him a smile that made Draco's chest ache, something odd twisting in his gut. It wasn't jealousy that he was feeling—he knew that emotion very well; it was something else, and it wasn't entirely comfortable.

"I saw that lovely photo in the papers this morning," Luna said, glancing over her shoulder, as though she knew what he was experiencing. "I'm really happy for both of you."

"It seems like you're the only one that is," he bit out before he could stop himself. He resumed his station and began to get to work.

"People don't like that you're together?" Scamander asked.

"That's the polite way of putting it," Draco replied, glancing at Luna who was watching him with her wide eyes. "Though they're at least being somewhat discreet about it."

"The Malfoys and Weasleys have a long history of being terrible to each other," Luna said absently, sitting down on the chair beside the bed. "And as people usually do, they're having trouble with the fact that the status quo is changing."

"The Weasleys were that family heavily invested in the Order, weren't they?" Scamander asked frowning slightly. Draco glanced up and swore he could almost see smoke coming out of the man's ears from how much effort that thought required.

Luna nodded. "Yes, both parents and all seven children were members. And their uncles were as well, when it had originally been started."

"Seven children?"

"Six now," Draco said, not looking up again. Ginny's eyes flashing with grief were fresh in his memory. And older memories of that horrible cry of pain he had heard her pompous brother make when it had happened, before he himself had run in terror.

There was an awkward silence.

"Luna told me what you did for Ginny a couple months ago; it was quite brave of you," Scamander said, filling it cheerfully. As though his opinion actually meant something to Draco.

"It was self-preservation," Draco said bluntly, still not looking up. And really it had been: for his career; and his heart (he realized that now).

The silence Scamander had chased away returned, and this time it was even more awkward. Draco was suddenly very aware of what his hands were doing, how his wand felt against his skin. How his sleeves moved as he worked.

"Here you are, Sir," the nurse said, and Draco resisted the sudden overwhelming urge to kiss her for the blessed distraction she offered him. But he didn't need to be in the papers for workplace sexual harassment as well. So instead he thanked her and got to work dabbing the potion onto the wound, while instructing Scamander to drink from the other vial.

Draco watched the runes as the potion got to work, and right away he could see a difference in the level of poison in the wizard's system. He felt a slight sense of relief. Yet at the same time, if the git had died, he wouldn't have to deal with him and his stupid accent or his stupid goofy smile. He glanced sidelong at Luna. It just wouldn't register in his mind that this was the sort of man she would fall for, yet her expression plainly said that she had. He seemed so… simple. Luna was anything but simple.

"I keep forgetting how many eveilebs are always flying around in here," Luna said startling him. He glanced over to see her waving distractedly at the air. Draco watched as Scamander turned his attention towards her, smiling a pathetically besotted smile, and offering her his free hand. The only thing going for Scamander in that moment was that his attention was solely for Luna. "They always get caught in the lights."

"Is that so?" Scamander said intently. "I don't think I've ever seen an eveileb before."

"Oh, you can't see them without special glasses," Luna told him, smiling happily. "But you can feel them moving the air, if you know what to pay attention to."

Draco watched them, a bad feeling growing in his stomach. How long would this last? How long until she realized that this bloke just wasn't for her? Because he wasn't. He couldn't be. How many issues would she get from the inevitable breakup? How much of the Luna he knew and loved would shift towards sadness and bitterness because of this idiot? Why did she have to go and get herself involved with him? What was wrong with being single?

He stopped at that. He could ask himself the very same question. He knew better than to be with someone like Ginny, and yet here he was arse over teakettle, barrelling towards some unknown future that he knew he was helpless to avoid.

To distract himself he glanced down on Scamander's arm, which was now pink and intact. Waving his wand to check the Runes once more, he nodded.

"There shouldn't be anything wrong, but you might want to take it easy for a couple days while the poison works its way out of your system. It might make you queasy or groggy." He glanced at Luna. "And maybe stay away from Reg, he's a bit of an arse."

"He's lovely," Luna said, shaking her head but smiling happily, getting to her feet. She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Draco."

He nodded his head at her stoically, then almost blinked in surprise as Scamander held out his hand to him, smiling happily. After the slightest hesitation he accepted.

"Thank you, Healer Malfoy," he said, his grip startlingly strong despite his recent injury. "Hopefully the next time we meet will be under better circumstances."

Draco nodded, though a small part of him hoped that they wouldn't meet again at all, but he just politely said his goodbyes instead. Luna smiled happily at him, and he knew she was the only reason he was being civil. It wasn't his place to tell her how to live her life. Even if he hated what she was doing with it.

The rest of the afternoon passed by uneventfully, filed with whispers and not-so-covert glances. However, after Scamander's visit Draco had even more to think about and thus could almost distract himself from them all. It wasn't until he was on the street, dressed in muggle clothes, heading towards the restaurant, that he allowed himself to even think about what was ahead. Spending actual time with his mother was something he avoided quiet adamantly. And time talking about his father was another story entirely.

There was an ache in his chest that he couldn't quite explain as he approached the door of Lustre. It was one he had frequently felt when spending time with his family over the years, though he had never managed to explain it when he was younger. He still couldn't, and it bothered him; the sensation and the lack of explanation. He usually just assumed that it was nervousness.

Draco walked into the building. Inside, the warm diffused lighting attempted to be inviting but only achieved pretentiousness. The hostess, standing behind a podium, began to smile warmly at him, but the expression faltered when she realized who he was.

He balked inside, as he always did, but on the outside remained calm and indifferent. It still threw him every time it happened, but lately the incidents were becoming less frequent. However, when it did happen they felt that much more poignant.

"Do you have a reservation?" she asked him cordially, though he could tell she wanted nothing more than to turn him away. When he had first returned to England, he would wonder what his family had done to earn such a response from each individual; he had long since realized that it was best not to think about it: he never wanted to hear the answer. Never.

"Under Malfoy," he drawled indifferently, even though inside he was once again struck by how far his family had truly fallen in this new world. No one would have dared asked his father if he had a reservation. Now he often found himself wondering if they would even serve him.

The hostess led the way to a table near the back, away from the windows, and much too close to the loos. At least it wasn't in the alleyway.

His mother was already sitting there, a cup of tea in front of her, a menu set open on the table. She looked up as they approached, and smiled slightly. It was the most he had seen her smile in a very long time, and that awkward feeling in his chest throbbed.

He thanked the hostess, effectively dismissing her, then kissed his mother firmly on the cheek, ignoring the butterflies that threatened to take over the knots in his stomach.

"Draco," his mother said, looking at him closely. Her eyes lingered on the lapels of his suit. "How wonderful to see you."

"You too, Mother," he replied, sitting stiffly in his chair. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said. "How are you?"

"Exhausted," he replied honestly, wondering why he bothered.

"You don't look exhausted," she said, her eyes again examining his face.

"Glamours do wonders," he said with a shrug, the knots tightening.

"I still don't understand why you would waste your time working like this, Draco," she said. "You should be managing the estate."

"You've been doing a fantastic job of it yourself," he said honestly, shrugging away the implications of her words.

"It's not something that I enjoy doing."

"And I don't enjoy working in the ER," he told her bluntly. "But when you have the skills you need to use them."

The waiter arrived, and his mother ordered some wine, and he ordered himself a coffee.

"Why don't you get something more appropriate for lunch?" his mother asked, after the waiter had walked away.

"I did," Draco replied flatly. "I do not drink Mother, I've told you this."

She nodded, the same unconvinced expression on her face that she always wore when they discussed such things.

Draco glanced around the restaurant, already wishing fervently that he had never arrived, and that the end of this meeting would rush to greet him. Why had he thought it was a good idea to actually show up? He could have just said an emergency came in and he had to work late. There were hundreds of excuses that he could have used, any of them would have worked. And yet, here he was…

"So when are you seeing Miss Weasley again?"

Draco snapped his attention back to her, keeping his expression completely neutral. His mother, master of the same skill, was doing the same.

It occurred to him then just how ridiculous his family was. What would life have been like if they had cast off this proper aristocratic British bull and just been normal, emotional people? If demonstrations of love were actual affection rather than purchases? He somehow imagined a life like the one Ginny grew up in, though maybe with a few less tattered and hand-me-down things.

"I thought you didn't want me to have anything to do with a Weasley," Draco said dryly, trying to keep the rancour from his voice.

"I didn't," his mother replied promptly. "But the picture changed my mind."

"What does the picture have to do with this?"

"I haven't seen you that happy since you were fifteen."

"And my happiness matters to you?" It slipped out before he could stop himself.

"Draco! Of course it does," his mother cried quietly, startling him. He hadn't seen her this animated in… years. "Your father and I risked everything for you—I risked everything for you. All I've ever wanted was for you to be happy. It's… pained me to see you so miserable."

Draco stared at her, startled out of neutrality. His heart pounded against his chest, and words played on the tip of his tongue, but a response just wouldn't come. Then he frowned. Who was she to say that? To suddenly give a damn? Where had she been for the past decade? He'd been all alone. He was forever alone.

"Why haven't you done anything about it then?" he snapped, whispering furiously at her. "Why haven't you said anything?"

"Because you won't talk to me! You won't even come home!"

Again he stared at her, dumbstruck. He glanced around nervously, but no one seemed to have noticed their whispered conversation. Which was odd to him, because it felt like they were shouting.

"I… I can't go back there," he stuttered, something cold and unpleasant shivering down his spine. "Not after…"

"You think you're the only one who feels that way?" she nearly hissed. "I've been in that mausoleum alone for the past decade. Do you think I _wanted_ to be there by myself?"

"Then why didn't you leave?"

"Where would I go? What would have happened when your father was released? He'd return to an empty, gutted ruin of what was once our home."

"Why would you care what Father came home to? He doesn't—"

"I still love him, Draco," she said, cutting him off, sounding almost desperate. "Nothing could change that."

"Nothing?" Draco scoffed.

"Nothing."

Draco stared at her. He wanted to be repulsed by this; he wanted to believe that his mother was a fool, a victim even, of a man who had bent her mind until she knew nothing else—and yet he couldn't convince himself of any of it. His mother had never been anything but her own woman. She might have been swayed by his father, but he knew she never did anything without seeing some benefit for herself in the actions. But that wasn't why he couldn't convince himself. It was because he knew that if it were Ginny… there wasn't much she could do to make him walk away… and even then…

Draco leant back in horror, feeling a stab of guilt as pain flashed across his mother's face. But he couldn't correct himself. He couldn't tell her what he was appalled by. It was his own thoughts, his own sickness that was alarming him. His own willingness to forgive the unthinkable… even though if Ginny did things like his father then she would no longer be his Ginny; her unique Ginny-ness came from the strength and purity of her heart which constantly overrode the darkness within her—darkness that he was learning she had full right to have changed for, but hadn't. Hadn't because she was so bloody strong willed. Nothing could defeat her. Even when she was sobbing in his arms she was strong. For her to lose all that, something would have to go terribly wrong. And still he would love her, like a damned fool.

"Draco…" his mother said slowly, reaching out for his hand once more. He started ever so slightly, coming back to the present. He looked at her blankly, taking in her expression. A curious mix of… sadness and concern? The guilt grew in his chest.

"Mother, I'm sorry. I didn't—"

Narcissa's face was cast in blue shadows, and a moment later a familiar sparrow flitted in front of him.

"Draco," the Chief's voice said through the Patronus. "I need to speak with you as soon as possible."

Draco stared at it for a moment, then nodded his head, a sudden weight in his stomach. "I'll be right there, Chief," he said evenly, calmly. His tone a perfect coverup for the anxiety coursing through him.

His mother's eyes flicked from him to the bird as it flew away.

"Does your employer always refer to you by your given name?" she asked, an odd expression flitting across her face before it too was gone, replaced by the semi-cold mask he knew so well.

It was as though the past few minutes had never happened, that the woman sitting across from him had never actually revealed her capacity for human emotion. Again the guilt clawed at him, along with that horrible, yet familiar, feeling.

A part of him, now that it was gone, wanted nothing more than to continue to sit in the previous moment, before the Patronus had arrived, see where the conversation would go. Bask in the light of a woman he hadn't seen plainly since he was a child, when everything had been simpler.

Only when there's something very wrong or very right, he thought, but shrugged instead of speaking.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he said, rising to his feet, placing his napkin on the table. "But I have to leave." He put some money down, enough to cover whatever she would have.

She stared at him, then reached out and caught his hand with surprising strength.

A thrill of sensation went up his arm, and he stared blankly down at the point of contact. Her hand looked older than he remembered. When had she gotten so old? He finally glanced up at her face, noticing, now that he would allow himself to see, the lines around her mouth and eyes, the shadows she hid, to near perfection, on the skin around her eyes. The almost too pallid complexion. They had both been suffering, hadn't they? Had they wasted all this time, thinking they were each alone, when they could have been there for one another? Would that have been possible?

He briefly contemplated how she would have reacted to where he had been, what he had done, when he had left the country. But it wouldn't work. He couldn't see any universe where that would have been a possibility. Which perhaps was unfair to her, for not allowing her the opportunity to prove herself to him, to be someone he didn't think she was capable of being. But he had been in survival mode for so long, that it wasn't fair to himself either to think of those possibilities. What was done was done. All they could do was move forward.

"I know things have been hard, Draco," she said softly, as though she was terrified of the words. There was a slight tremor in her grip. "And I'm… sorry that I haven't been there for you. I was too caught up in my own misery. And by the time you came back, I… I didn't know what to do. You've grown up into someone I don't know."

The ground twisted under his feet. His ears rang. He wanted to tug his hand free, but he remained frozen, staring at her.

She pursed her lips and let go of him, pulling her hand back and placing both in her lap.

Draco wanted to say something. He wanted to tell her… he didn't know what. So instead he nodded his head slowly then turned and walked away, feeling her eyes on his back and his own stinging as he made his way out of the restaurant.

—o—

"You wanted to see me, Chief?"

The Chief looked up, and with one glance at the old wizard's face, Draco knew something was terribly wrong.

—o—

Ginny felt a chill as the throw blanket she had snuggled under was pulled back. She had taken off her sweater, and her tank top didn't offer much protection from the damp cold of London.

As she realized what was happening she stiffened in alarm blearily trying to open her eyes.

"It's just me, Gin," a voice said gruffly, as arms slipped under her shoulders and knees. His scent surrounded her and she felt herself relax before her mind had completely caught up.

"What're you doing?" she asked as he picked her up, his heat radiating into her as he settled her in his arms.

"Taking you to bed," he told her.

"Why?"

"I need to hold you."

He maneuvered her down the hall and into the bedroom, walking over to the down-turned bed. He carefully placed her on it, pulling the blankets up around her.

She watched him with heavy eyelids, blinking slowly, as he took his clothes off, folding them neatly and placing them on the chair in the corner, until he was only in his pants. He then walked to the other side of the bed, placing his wand on the bedside table, and crawled under the covers. He gathered her against his chest, pulling her right leg over his hips. Burying his face into her hair he rubbed his face back and forth across the top of her head.

"You okay?" she asked, her bunk hand sliding across his scar.

"Yah," he said, pressing his forehead against the top of her head. "Just a bad day. Go back to sleep. I'm fine."

Ginny nodded, kissing his chest, the potion pulling her back down once more.

—o—

 **A/N:** Thank you so much for being patient with me! I honestly didn't mean for this chapter to take this long. I decided this and the next two chapters needed to be re-written, then school overwhelmed me. (I ended up writing about 43,000 words worth of papers this past semester. O.o; So… much… philosophy). But I am now done my (second) Undergrad, and am going to start my Master's in the fall. Yay. So the plan is to have this thing finished and ready to post, so at least I won't leave you waiting anymore. I think there's 5 or 6 chapters left? Fingers crossed that it will happen. I hope all of you are doing well! I'm looking forward to hearing from you again!


	11. Chapter 11 - Get Up

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbain_seagull at hotmail dot com

 **A/N:** There's a bit of smut near the beginning... just so you know.

Disclaimer: I claim nothing to be my own, other than this ever so slightly original plot.

 **Somewhere I Belong**

 **Chapter 11**

 **Get Up**

Soundtrack: "Get Up" by Wiretree

—O—

Ginny slowly became aware that it was bright out, and she was far warmer than she was used to being. Someone was also running their fingers through her hair, skimming along her scalp, and it was all just very relaxing. She snuggled deeper under the covers, and in turn rubbed her face against the chest her face was pressed up against.

There was a soft noise of approval, and she tilted her head up and smiled at him. Draco smiled softly back and she felt her heart thud forcefully against her chest. His whole face lit up when he did that, and in the sunlight it was breathtaking.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi, back," he replied, his eyes wandering across her face. "I've never realized how many freckles you have until just now." His hand drifted over the bridge of her nose, and she attempted to move her bunk arm to swat him away. But it only made it half way there before the pain made it drop.

"How is it feeling?" His warm fingers gently moved over her shoulder, deft and decisive like they always were in the hospital.

"It hurts if I do that," she said, smiling wryly at him as his fingers moved to her ribs, gently probing the tender area. She never wanted to injure her ribs again. She had bruised them a few years ago and they had taken a while to heal. Smashed in ribs, even with the help of magic, seemed to take forever. "But it's better than it was."

He nodded, his hand drifting from her ribs down her side, to her hip. His fingers rubbed over her protruding bone, his thumb curling into the divot it created. Ginny felt a thrill go through her.

"How are you doing?" she asked, her eyes fixed on his hand. "Not that I'm complaining, but why did you come? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied, dipping his head and pressing kisses along the side of her neck, his grip on her hip increasing. She closed her eyes and leant more firmly into the arm she was using as a pillow, pressing her face against his chest.

Surprise and desire thrummed through her, wondering at his sudden boldness. Last night he had been so careful to not do anything more than hold her. This, this was something new. And it was terribly exciting.

And it was all because he didn't want her asking about what had upset him. Damned Slytherin.

"You're trying to distract me," she said, a small moan escaping her lips as he found a sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. He paused and kissed it again, dragging his teeth over it lightly. Another little moan slipped up her throat.

"True story," he replied, pausing for only a moment before returning to what he had been doing.

Her breath caught, and she was dimly aware that she was pressing herself against him. She felt him smirk against her skin as he continued to worry the spot, his hand drifting down her thigh, before coming back up, dragging his blunted nails lightly across the fabric of the trousers she was still wearing.

"Draco," she said, trying to inject some seriousness into her voice.

"Ginevra," he drawled, not bothering to look up.

His hand left her hip, coming up and pressing gently on her bad shoulder until she had her back against the mattress. He moved his head down, pressing kisses across her collarbone then further down.

He reached the neck of her top, and slid his tongue under it, along the swell of her breast. Desire jolted through her, even as it clicked in her mind, with startling clarity, that he had never been this forward before. That he had always held himself back before this. That he never allowed himself this. And the fact that he was now said more than any words could have: he was upset. So upset that he wasn't able or didn't want to keep himself back how he usually would. Didn't want to

She opened her mouth, ready to object, but gasped instead as his hand had slid down, yanking her top down, and then her breast was in his mouth, his tongue swirling around her rapidly hardening nipple. His hand slid down and cupped her other breast.

All she had to do was shut up. All she had to do was not ask any more questions and who knew where this would go. She felt a shiver run through her, centring in her middle. She could just lay there and be surrounded by his scent, his warmth, the feel of his moist mouth against her skin. And allow him to distract her from what he obviously didn't want to discuss, and which she knew she should probably know about.

He gently dragged his teeth along her skin, and she pressed her head back into her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut.

A little whimper slipped up her throat, but she managed to tug her left arm free and find the top of his shoulder. She gripped it, trying to persuade herself to push, even as his tongue did something amazing as it swirled. Her legs were wrapped around his, and she was vaguely aware of her hips pressing desperately against his. She could just…

But not like this. Not when it was just instinct and not intent.

"Draco," she finally managed, hating herself a little bit, as she pushed at his shoulder. "Please tell me what's wrong."

He froze, and she felt a pang of guilt go through. She shifted her hand to the side of his head, running her fingers through his hair, and his shoulders slumped.

He pulled his mouth away from her skin, his breath ragged, making her shiver once more. Then his hand was tugging her top back into place, smoothing across the neckline as though to seal her in. He then pressed his forehead down onto her sternum.

"Sorry," he finally said, his voice detached and neutral.

After a long moment he pulled back and looked down on her, his mask firmly in place, though his hand tentatively pushing her hair away from her face belied any calm he actually had. She felt her stomach tighten in fear, but was distracted as he rolled off of her and stared up at the ceiling.

"Draco," she said again, more uncertain than she had been before. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he said finally. "Nothing really, at least. I just wanted to be with you." Ginny continued to stare at him, refusing to back down. He glanced at her then sighed, his expression softening ever so slightly. "I just had a bad night." He looked away.

"Because of something specific happening?" she asked. "Or just a bad day?"

He just shrugged in response, his face not giving away anything as he stared up at the ceiling. She knew he wasn't really looking at it, lost in his thoughts. He shifted beside her, pulling the duvet back up over their shoulders. His fingers absently rubbed along her side.

"It's nothing, Gin," he said finally, looking for all intents and purposes like there really was nothing wrong. Ginny watched him, debating her options.

She opened her mouth again, but closed it when she heard the fireplace leap to life. Orton meowed in greeting a moment later, and Ginny struggled to sit up, glancing around. If it was Ron again…

"Miss Weaszy!" a familiar squeaky voice called. "Are you up yet?"

Relief flooded her system. It was just Pagsy.

"I didn't realize it was that late," Ginny said, as she moved to get out of bed. After a brief pause, Draco's hands were on her, helping her. She glanced over with a small smile, but he only stared blankly back at her.

"Yes, just a second!" she called distractedly, finally on her feet. She took her housecoat, and grabbed a change of clothes, then hurried to the door. Ginny glanced over her shoulder as she reached the doorway. Draco was sitting up with his back towards her, his muscles shifting delectably as he raised his arms over his head and stretched. Bloody hell, why was she always surprised by how attractive he was?

Spinning back about, she hurried through, closing the door just enough to give him privacy.

"Hi, Pagsy," she said, smiling warmly at the little elf, as she walked into the living room. "How are you this morning?"

"I am good, thank you, Miss Weazey," she replied, smiling happily. "It's a beautiful sunny day," she continued, gesturing towards the window. "And I have the afternoon off to enjoy it."

Ginny smiled genuinely. Hermione and her small horde of activists had been having a lot of success lately. She had never thought about it much before, but it was good to see, on the flip side.

A little while later she was waving at the elf as she climbed into the fireplace, wishing her a good day.

"You as well, Miss!" And with that, Ginny was alone in the room. She stood there for a moment, feeling her smile fade. It might be a beautiful day outside, but she wasn't convinced it was going to prove to be a good day.

The sounds of cooking were drifting out of the kitchen, and she took a deep breath and headed towards it, wondering what she was going to find.

She stood at the threshold and felt a little smile tug at her lips. Draco was cracking eggs into a mixing bowl, his shirtsleeves rolled up, showing off his toned arms, as well as his scars. She was glad that he felt comfortable enough around her to show them off. She knew from Luna that it wasn't something he did lightly.

Her eyes travelled to his chest, where his vest and jacket were again missing, having been replaced with her least frilly apron.

"That's a good look for you, Malfoy," she said, walking into the room.

He glanced up at her and grimaced, his hands still moving.

"There wasn't much of a selection," he said. "I might have to remedy that."

"I'll just have my mum put more ruffles on," she said, climbing up onto the island stool. "She put all the others on for me."

"You requested theses?" he asked, looking down in disgust, halting his methodical movements. "And here I thought they were simply all you could afford."

Ginny rolled her eyes, even as a little twinge went through her. Since when was her wealth on the table?

"I'm an international Quidditch celebrity now," she replied indifferently. "You'd be surprised by what I could afford."

And it was true. She had more money than she ever dreamed she could have, though it was very rare that she sort any of it. It was all being carefully tucked away, or invested, so that no matter what happens, she would be okay. This accident, if nothing else, reinforced the need for such practices. She was just lucky that it was in her contract to still e on the payroll while injured. It also made her wonder for how much longer she could actually play the game before her health was detrimentally affected.

Draco looked up at her blankly, then his cheeks pinked.

"Sorry," he said, his hands resuming their mixing. "That was uncalled for."

Ginny shrugged, watching him.

"Draco…" she finally said. "What—"

The fireplace leaping to life once more cut her off again. They both turned to see Luna walking into the kitchen a few moments later, a few items in her hand.

"Oh good, I was right," she said, moving towards them. "I was hoping you would be here, Draco."

Ginny glanced over at Draco, but his face was again neutral, his knuckles white as he held the whisk in his hand. She looked back to Luna, trying to see by appearance if she could tell what was going on.

Luna glanced around, not offering her any clue. "There are no owls here," she said.

"My place is unplottable," Ginny said promptly. "All my fan-mail is getting redirected to the office. Only family owls can find me."

She watched as her friend nodded, distractedly putting a tray of brownies down onto the counter. The cellophane was cloudy, indicating that she had recently pulled them from the oven, not bothering to let them cool properly before she came here.

"Are you okay?" Luna asked, looking intently at Draco.

"Why wouldn't he be okay?" Ginny demanded. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he replied.

Luna held out the paper she was holding.

Ginny gasped, covering her mouth, looking at Draco. He stared at the paper, his mouth thinning, but he didn't look surprised.

"You knew?" she demanded.

He nodded his head. "Chief Willoughby called me back in while I was having lunch with my mother. Apparently, he had been approached by a journalist. The hospital was trying to keep it out of the paper, but obviously, they failed."

"How—how can you be so calm about this?" Ginny demanded, feeling anything but.

"It was bound to get out eventually," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. Ginny watched, noticing that his movements were just a bit too controlled. Inside he was panicking, she could feel it. One glance at Luna told her that the other woman knew it too.

"The responses aren't all bad," Luna said, gesturing towards the paper. "I think people are more surprised than anything. And the hospital really is trying to put this in your favour."

Draco nodded, but didn't comment.

"They can't make you stop," Ginny said, with a lurch in her stomach. "They can't. You're the only one—"

"My research is all documented," he said bluntly, cutting her off. "Anyone can pick it up and continue it, if they wanted."

"They can't," Ginny said again, looking desperately towards Luna, who just shook her head.

"I'm a Malfoy," Draco said, bitterness leeching into his voice. "They can do whatever they want."

"No," Ginny said firmly. Something was resolving itself within her, and she leant into it, relieved to finally feel something familiar in all of this. Something other than that gnawing fear she was constantly trying to ignore. "They can't." She got to her feet and strode out to the hall, putting on her shoes.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked as she grabbed her keys, suddenly at her side, his hand on her arm. Luna was in the kitchen doorway watching, her eyes wider than usual.

"To pull a few strings," she said, shrugging out of his grip. She strode over to the fireplace, throwing some Floo powder and calling out her destination. Without hesitating, she climbed into the green flames, not turning towards either of them, even as she heard Draco call her name, worry in his voice.

Ginny climbed out of the grate, glancing around the main foyer of the Ministry, before turning her focus to the entrance gates. She strode over there, ignoring everyone she walked past, almost forgetting to smile at the clerk sitting behind the desk.

"Miss Weasley," he said, smiling at her. "So good to see you. How can we help you today?"

"I've come to see my father," she said shortly, holding out her wand to him.

"Hmm," the man said, glancing down on something. "It looks like he's quite busy, so you might end up having to wait a while." As he said this he weighed her wand before handing it back to her with a smile. "Though there is a note to notifying him if any of you come by. I'll send him up a memo right now."

"Thank you," Ginny said, her smile genuine as he allowed her to walk past security to the elevators.

The doors to one opened and a few people got out. A mother and daughter, as well as an older witch, were still on board. Ignoring them as well, Ginny stepped on, turning her back on the remaining passengers. She looked up at the dial, finally paying attention to the way her heart was slamming against her chest.

"Mum, it's Ginny Weasley," the little girl said excitedly. Ginny smiled slightly, happy for the distraction, keeping her eyes forward.

Sometimes she forgot that she was famous—not because of her father, or her family name, or her brothers, or her ex-husband, or what she did during the war, but because of what she did for a living now. To her, Quidditch had always just been the dream: to play and get paid for doing it. Everything else was just part of the package and as such, it wasn't something she had actively wanted.

The doors opened and the mother and daughter got off, the girl looking over her shoulder, waving at her. Ginny smiled and waved back. The doors slid shut, and the elevator went down one more floor, the doors opening once again, and Ginny felt a thrill go through her chest as they revealed Percy.

He was looking down on a scroll and absently glanced up as he stepped onto the elevator. He did a double take, his glasses slipping down his nose as he did so.

"Ginny!" he exclaimed, hastily rolling up his scroll and giving her an awkward one armed hug. "What are you doing here?" He glanced around. "How did you get here?"

"I need to see Dad," Ginny said, a nervous flutter going up her stomach, which she blamed on the elevator resuming its course.

"Oh, Dad's really busy," Percy said as he stepped back into the space beside her. "I just had to run out and grab food for him." He held up a takeout bag. "He didn't even have time for a proper lunch."

Percy and her father had been going for a weekly lunch since shortly after the war. It had been their agreement, after Fred's funeral, to try and mend what was left of their relationship. Ginny knew that it had been uncomfortable for both of them for quite a while, but after a few months they got better, and had never broken the habit. It made her happy to see her father and brother getting along again. When Percy had left the family it had been… terrible.

Percy no longer worked for their father but in the Department of Policy and Law. His goal was to try and create a system that couldn't be taken advantage of as Fudge, and inevitably Tom, had done. They wouldn't let him have direct access to anything though, because of his history, but much of what he helped create, once thoroughly screened, had been implemented. Which seemed to be enough for him.

"You really have a thing for stirring up drama, don't you Gin," Percy said with a sigh.

"Really?" she asked, arching her eyebrow. "You want to talk to me about drama?"

"I got it out of my system when I was younger," he said with a sniff, though his lip twitched ever so slightly. "You, on the other hand, haven't been out of the papers since you married Harry."

"Not my fault people find me fascinating," Ginny said indifferently.

"Scandalous is more like," Percy muttered.

"Oi," she said sharply. "What other people think of me is none of my business, and neither is it yours. I'm a good person. They're just too busy writing trash that they can't see it."

They lulled into silence, her brother shifting nervously beside her. A moment later the elevator arrived at their floor. The doors opened to reveal a bustling hallway, and they entered the fray, heading towards the middle of the building.

"Just say what you're going to say, Perc," Ginny said with a sigh as they walked around people. "Get it out. Tell me all about how you disapprove of Draco."

"I don't," he said shortly.

"You don't?" Ginny asked in surprise, eyebrows raised.

"Well, he's a git and I don't see what there is to like," Percy continued, and Ginny started to scowl. "He was such a foul child, you can't deny that.

"But I know you well enough to know that you would never put up with anyone who didn't treat you properly. And he hasn't _imperiused_ you, or got you under a love spell, so there must be something there that I don't see, which is fine by me."

"What do you mean he hasn't _impiriused_ me or given me something?" Ginny sputtered.

"I checked."

"You _what?"_

"I checked," he repeated. "When Bill first mentioned Malfoy was at your flat." He shrugged, an oddly self-depreciating look on his face. "I still get paranoid sometimes. Old habits are hard to break."

"Perc…" she said, feeling herself soften, even though she still felt oddly exposed. She put her hand on his arm and smiled at him sadly.

"But," Percy said a bit louder, trying to cover how uncomfortable he was, as usual. "I'm not sure if this is the best time to be galavanting about the place on Malfoy's arm."

"Because of his research? Or because of how they tried to frame him?"

"Because of his father," Percy said, shaking his head. "Everything else is probably helping Draco; though I doubt Dark Rising sees it that way. In trying to taint his image they're really just making him look more sympathetic to the rest of us."

Ginny nodded, her own suspicions confirmed. It was like they were trying to ruin him, and they would be, if he had been the Malfoy of before: associating him with Weasleys and Muggles. But that wasn't who he was anymore.

"Wait, what do you mean about his father?"

"You know," Percy said as he led her up to their father's office door. "About—"

The door opened, and for a moment all three Weasleys looked at each other, startled.

"Gin!" her father exclaimed finally, pulling her into a hug. "I've been expecting you."

Ginny leant into her father, taking half a moment to enjoy the comfort he offered her.

"Can you give us a moment, Percy?" Arthur asked as he pulled back from Ginny, keeping a hand on her shoulder.

"Sure," Percy said, settling himself down on one of the plush chairs. He pulled a book and his glasses from his robes and proceeded to ignore them. Ginny felt a grin tug at her lips. Some things just never changed.

"Come on in, Ginbug," her father said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and leading her inside. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing okay," she said, glancing around at the utter chaos around them. "Are you okay?"

Her father glanced over at her as he walked around his desk. He then glanced around the office and sighed, his shoulders dropping.

"I've had better weeks," he said, smiling tiredly. "I think I'm ready for a vacation." He sat down heavily in his chair, then frowned and glanced around.

"Did you come here with someone?" he asked. "Percy didn't pick you up, did he?"

"Huh? No, we met on the elevator."

"How did you get here, then?"

"I used the Floo," she said, her heart thudding against her chest as she realized what she'd done. She hadn't even thought about it… she'd just acted—for Draco. She had risked further injury for him without a second thought. Panic brushed up against her, but she shoved it aside, focusing on her father.

"I thought you weren't supposed to," he said slowly, an odd look on his face.

"I can," she lied, guilt flaring inside her, but she brushed it aside. She could deal with all of this later; there were more important issues at hand. "Dad, you can't stop Draco from doing his research."

"I wasn't going to."

"He isn't—you're not?"

"No," her father replied, an odd expression on his face. "Why would you think I would?"

"Because he's a Malfoy," she said plainly. "And you said all those things to me a couple of weeks ago?"

"Those comments still stand," Arthur said seriously. "But I already knew about what he was working on. And I have no desire to stop him, even if his alias has been revealed."

"You knew?" she asked dumbly.

"Of course," he replied. "I was the Muggle Artifacts Liaison after the war, remember? Chief Willoughby came and talked to me when Draco first had something to release to the public. I've been keeping an eye on the project ever since."

"Then what's going to happen?"

"Nothing, hopefully," her father said, shifting a few items on the surface of his desk. "The Ministry has already sent out an official statement in support of Draco's work. We're asking that people consider it with an open mind based on the work itself, not their issues with who created it."

"You did? For Draco?"

"For the people his work is helping."

Ginny stared at him. Of course it hadn't been for Draco. No, at this point Draco was only a tool for the greater good. And as long as he kept doing good then he could keep living the life he had. He could play good guy, even though no one beyond herself of Luna, believed it to be true. Then something else occurred to her.

"So you already knew he wasn't just a former Death Eater when we spoke," she said, feeling a curious mixture of disbelief and confusion. And anger.

"I did," Arthur replied, nodding his head. "It doesn't change his past. But his work shouldn't be condoned because of what he did."

"Then why were you trying to scare me off?" she demanded. This wasn't making any sense to her.

"Because, Ginny," her father began, leaning back into his chair. "Loving him is never going to be easy. The man isn't whole anymore."

Ginny stared at him. "So what? I don't see how loving Draco is any different from loving Harry." She was vaguely aware that the word they were using had never been spoken aloud by either her or Draco. Was that what this was? Was that what she was feeling? It was much different from what she had felt for Harry, but given where that relationship had ended up, that didn't indicate much.

"Except that Harry came out on the right side of the war." Her father's flat statement jarred her back to the matter at hand.

"And Draco denounced his side and has been trying to make up for what he did."

Her father sighed, taking his glasses off and rubbing at his eyes. Then he put them back on and stared at her.

"I just want things to be easy for you," he said finally. "Having a life with someone like Draco Malfoy is never going to be easy. You've been through so much in your life already. I just want you to find someone that will make things better for you, not worse."

"I don't want easy, Dad," she said, shaking her head. "That's not to say that I wouldn't complain if I found a nice and easy relationship and felt the same way. But I'm not scared of having to fight for what I want and for what makes me happy."

"And Draco makes you happy?" he asked her wearily.

Ginny nodded her head. "Very much so." The warmth she felt flowing through her as she said it confirmed her words, startling her.

Arthur observed her silently, and if she didn't know better, she would say that her father could read exactly what she was feeling. Maybe he just knew her that well. Or she was just that transparent.

"I don't like it, Ginny," he said at last, and she felt like someone has kicked her in the chest. She had thought, once her feelings were more clear, that everything would just… sort itself out. Was his family name all he saw? What more could Draco possibly do?

"You don't have to," Ginny said shortly, getting to her feet.

"You know that his father's getting out of prison in a couple of weeks, don't you Gin?" Arthur asked, putting his glasses back on and eyeing her as she stood frozen in front of his desk.

"What?"

"Lucius Malfoy's ten years in Azkaban are almost up," her father explained. "He's being released on the 27th. It's been in the paper a few times now."

"No," she said, not sure if she was responding to her father's question or the whole concept in general. "I didn't know. I don't read the paper."

Arthur nodded, though he didn't say anything. Ginny could already think of what was going through his head. Her boyfriend, of which he still didn't know was official (but she suspected he already knew) hadn't told her his villainous father was being let out of prison.

"He's already been cleared to return to Malfoy Manor," her father continued. Where Draco will never go, Ginny thought grimly. "Between that and what's been happening with his son, you now included, the press are having a field day."

"You're worried that my association with Draco will connect you to Lucius," Ginny said flatly, not sure if she could believe it.

"No, I'm worried about you getting caught up in the drama that always follows after the Malfoys and being hurt again," her father said, shaking his head, his blue eyes locking with hers. "Whatever the Dark Rising has planned, you being close to Draco is just going to make you a target again."

"I was a target before we even had a relationship," Ginny replied automatically, her stomach lurching at her father's surprised expression. Well, that had come out in the trial, hadn't it? "Hang on, did Dark Rising have something to do with ruining Draco's alias?"

Her father stared at her steadily, then nodded his head once.

"Why?"

"We have no idea," her father said, looking tired again. Ginny clenched her good hand at her side, at a loss for words.

A short while later, Ginny took her leave of her father, giving Percy a quick hug on her way out. She felt drained. All she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed. As she walked out the Minister's offices it occurred to her that she should have asked one of them to Apparate her home. She shouldn't chance the Floo again. She hesitantly turned back towards the door.

"Miss Weasley!" someone shouted, causing Ginny to freeze.

She slowly turned to see a group of reporters, armed with Quick Quote Quills and cameras, hurrying towards her. Her stomach lurched. Taking a hurried step back towards the office door, she glanced back at them. She couldn't deal with this right now. She just wanted to go home.

"Ginny!" a delightfully familiar voice called from the opposite end of the hall. "There you are!"

Ginny turned, relief flooding through her, as Hermione bustled towards her, a scowl on her face. A moment later the other woman was standing between her and the reporters, who had come to a stop, eyeing the other witch cautiously.

"Ms Weasley's not making any statements at this time," Hermione told them briskly. "And if I remember correctly, your permits don't allow you near the Minister's office. Get out of here before I see to it that your licenses are revoked."

The reporters glanced from Hermione to each other, then hurried away down the hall. Ginny watched their retreating backs, feeling another wave of relief. Which was quickly followed by a wave of fatigue.

"Thanks, Hermione," Ginny said tiredly, pushing some wispy hair out of her eyes. "I hate when they do that to me."

"I know," Hermione said with a smile. "Are you here with someone?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Ginny snapped. Her friend raised an eyebrow, and Ginny felt another stab of guilt. Damnit all, she just wanted to go home. "Sorry," she muttered. "No, I'm here by myself."

The other witch nodded, but instead of commenting asked: "Are you headed home?"

"Yes," Ginny said quickly. "I mean, that's where I want to go. But I forgot to plan how to make it happen before I came here."

"I'll take you," Hermione replied pleasantly, gesturing down the hallway. "I was actually just going to come to your flat anyway," she said as they headed towards the elevators on the opposite side of the building from the reporters. "See how you were holding up." She hesitated. "And to see if there was anything I could do to help Draco."

Ginny looked at her dumbstruck. "Really?"

Again Hermione nodded. "Well, I have been working with him for the past few years."

"But you didn't know it was him," Ginny pointed out, then frowned at Hermione's expression. "Right?"

"I had my suspicions," the other witch said with a shrug. "Their mannerisms were very similar."

"What?" Ginny demanded. "And you kept working with him?"

"I didn't see any harm in it," Hermione said slowly, glancing at the elevator that stood open for them before they both got on. The doors clanged shut and it lurched into motion, taking them down towards the employee Apparation Point. "And he wasn't being cruel. Besides, I appreciated what he was trying to do with his work. And though it was a bit of a cliche—you know, asking the Muggle-born about Muggles—it was rather flattering all the same."

Ginny stared at her friend, once again finding herself reevaluating her. Sometimes she felt like Hermione was just too perceptive for her own good. Or anyone else's good, for that matter.

"Did Ron and Harry know?"

"Are you kidding me?" Hermione asked with a laugh. "You know how those two are."

Ginny sighed. At least she wasn't the last to find out, like usual.

"Are you upset with me?" Ginny asked sheepishly.

"About what?"

"My relationship with Draco?"

"No," Hermione said with a shrug. "Took me a moment, but you've always been attracted to intelligent and powerful men."

Ginny stared at her, realizing with a start that Hermione was very right. First, there had been Harry, and then, though she was loath to admit it, Tom. Michael and Dean hadn't been interesting enough to hold her attention, nor had any other bloke in the space between Harry and now, until Draco. What did that say about her? Furthermore, was it the power each of them possessed that had attracted her to them, or their darkness? Her father had been correct, neither man was "whole." And Tom certainly hadn't been either.

The elevator came to a stop, distracting her, and both women got off, walking the short distance to the Apparation Point. Hermione offered her her hand as she drew her wand. Ginny took it firmly, trying to smile. Moments later she felt the world compress and re-inflate, until she was standing in the alley by her flat. She shivered as the wind moved through her sweater. Hermione eyed her attire but didn't comment. At least she had thought to put on shoes.

"He was always right behind you in school," Ginny said, trying to shake the odd feeling the revelation had left in her chest. A hollowness that she wasn't sure how to fill, or if it even could be filled.

"And imagine how much that must have stuck in his craw," Hermione said, grinning back at her as they made their way quickly out of the alley. Then she hesitated, the smile fading. "But doesn't that bother you? His past, his views? They're so contrary to your family. To you."

"Didn't that bother you while working with him?" Ginny countered, glancing down at the steps as they walked up.

Hermione shrugged after a moment, accepting the keys Ginny held out to her. "I don't know if that's ever not going to be between us, to be honest," she said, unlocking and pulling the door open for them both. "But I'm not dating him."

"We're not"—Ginny cut off at Hermione's arched brows. "Not for very long at least," she said quietly.

"Of course," Hermione replied casually. They walked through the empty lobby to the elevator, the silence of its motions almost startling after the loud banging of the Ministry's equipment. "But really, Ginny, doesn't it bother you?"

"He's not that different from me," Ginny said, glancing away, his profile on Halloween flashing through her mind. "Not anymore. He's really changed. He actually never stops surprising me with how much." She smiled tiredly at her friend. "If you could see how much his past pains him, you'd never ask me that."

"You really like him, don't you?" Hermione asked quietly.

"I—yah," Ginny said, giving up. It was true, after all. She wouldn't be dating him if she didn't. The elevator door opened, and they made their way quietly down the hallway. Hermione flipped through the keys and unlocked the door to her flat.

"Your brother's never going to get used to it," Hermione said with an odd quirk to her mouth, pulling the door open for her. They walked in, and as Hermione closed the door behind them Ginny felt even more tension ease out of her shoulders.

"That's nothing new," Ginny said, smiling back as she slipped off her shoes. "I think he'd still prefer for me to not be a girl, let alone one with a sex life."

Hermione snorted, shrugging out of her coat and unzipping her boots. "He's essentially told me just that. Harry was safe, but beyond that I think he would be happiest if you were locked in a tower somewhere."

"Sometimes I think Ron just needs a—" Ginny cut off abruptly as she walked into the living room. Draco was laying on his stomach, his face pressed into the cushions, fast asleep.

"You didn't know he was going to be here?" Hermione whispered at her side.

Ginny shook her head. "I left him and Luna here, but I thought he would just… go home or something…"

"Hmm," Hermione said. "Well, it will save me a trip once he wakes up." With that she left Ginny, pausing to scratch Orton, who was happily limping towards them, on the head before going into the kitchen.

Ginny stood there, listening to the sounds of her friend making tea, her cat meowing happily at her, eyes locked on her boyfriend (that was still so weird to say). The events of the last few hours swirled through her mind, and she felt the disconcerting urge to both laugh and cry. Though wasn't sure if it was for sadness, joy, or fear; or some odd mix of all three.

—O—

Draco awoke with a start, the sound of voices in his flat sending adrenaline through his veins. He stared blindly ahead, trying to figure out why he couldn't see anything other than floral. He didn't own anything floral…

With another burst of panic he realized that he wasn't in his bed. He wasn't even in his own flat. Then it clicked in his head: he was still at Ginny's, apparently having passed out on her chesterfield while waiting for her to come home. When would he feel alert again? It felt like his weeks working at the hospital had drained everything away. And now the chances of him getting everything he had back…

Shifting his focus away from the ache in his chest, he listened to the hushed voices. He could hear Ginny, her even tone lower than he was used to, but still instantly recognizable. But he couldn't identify the second voice offhand. It was familiar, but it wasn't Luna.

He heard his name spoken, and even though he couldn't make out what else they were saying, he felt suddenly alert.

But then, he knew why they were talking about him. He figured a lot of people were talking about him. He hadn't had the courage to go home and check his mail, let alone to see what his mother had to say about all of this. No, he had just hidden here like the coward he was.

Groaning quietly he rolled over onto his back, his forearm draped across his forehead, and stared up at the ceiling. He didn't want to move. He couldn't move. Movement would make everything real again, would offer the world another opportunity to strike at him. Maybe if he just lay still everything would pass him by and he could carry on with his life without a single worry.

"—really have to be going," the second voice said, suddenly closer. "I—oh!"

Draco's eyes shot up to the kitchen entrance and felt as though someone had kicked him in the chest, winding him. Granger stood there, looking as startled as he felt. Her eyes darted from his forearm to his face then back again, and Draco's stomach gave a terrible lurch before he hurriedly got to his feet and tugged his sleeves down.

"Granger," he said, impressed with how calm his voice sounded, though he could feel his damned cheeks heating up. He absently ran a hand through his hair.

"Malfoy," she replied, glancing to her right as Ginny stepped up beside her, who had a worried look flitting across her face. The redhead's eyes locked with his and she smiled, and despite all sanity, he felt the coils in his stomach relax slightly.

The three of them stood there, awkwardness thick in the air, and as Draco looked between the two women, he couldn't help but compare them. How one was so light and the other so dark, yet both seemed to radiate something warm and bright that he couldn't describe, but felt compelled towards either way. And always had.

"Sorry, I hadn't meant to fall asleep," he blurted, the silence becoming too much for him.

"From the sounds of it you needed it," Granger said, finally breaking the immobility of all three of them. She walked towards the front hall. Both Draco and Ginny watched as she gathered her boots and coat, putting both on in the hall.

"I mentioned to Ginny a few things that we can do," she said as she walked back into the room.

"Do?" he asked like an idiot. He glanced at Ginny but she just nodded her head before looking to Granger, who had stopped near the cat tower, scratching the damned cat's head.

"About your alias," the other woman replied patiently. "I had meant to speak to you as well, but I have to go get Rose and Hugo." She glanced at Ginny, then turned to face him properly before taking two steps towards him. "If you're interested I'm happy to help, no strings attached."

Draco blinked and stared at her. Finally, he nodded his head, not trusting himself to say anything that would either accept or deny her help.

She stared at him, with that same damned calculating look she had always given him in school. It was odd to see again when he had become so used to her looking at him with kindness. When she had known him as Julian Gates, she had always seemed like the woman he had heard about all through school and afterwards: the intelligent, compassionate, kind, and sometimes terrifying witch that she was. When she looked at him now, he still saw the thing to be terrified of, as he always had in school, but that was all. No wonder he had always felt so miserable around her in school.

"I wouldn't have been upset," she told him finally. "About helping you."

Again Draco nodded, internally bracing himself for what came next. The yelling and accusations for having tricked her. For having manipulated her into helping him because he had thought she would never have agreed—had been convinced that she would never agree. So he had never given her the opportunity to prove him wrong. His pulse picked up, and he struggled to keep his breath even.

"And I'll still be your soundboard, if you need someone to bounce ideas off of," she continued, smiling slightly. The change in her expression startled him, and it was almost like he was Julian all over again. But this time she was looking at the real him, at Draco Malfoy, the boy who had called her derogative things for much of his youth, despite how amazing she was.

She stuck her hand out, and Draco stared at it dumbly before finally reaching out and taking it carefully in his. Her grip startled him, but he quirked his lip up and returned it.

"That would be appreciated," he managed, again impressed with how normal he sounded. "For the couple days I'll have left to work on it."

"I think you'll have more time than that," Granger said, giving him a half smile before gesturing towards Ginny.

Draco turned to look at his girlfriend and watched as her cheeks pinked.

"Have a good night," Granger said, and a moment later there was a whoosh of flames, and when he glanced over, the witch was gone.

"Hi," Ginny said, glancing at the fireplace as well.

"Hi, back," Draco replied, frowning, observing her still pink cheeks. "What did Granger mean? What did you do?"

"I went and talked to my father," she told him. "But he'd already made a statement to the public about your alias."

"He did?" Draco asked cautiously.

Ginny nodded her head. "He's requesting that people support your work. You have the Ministry behind you."

There was an odd buzzing in his head.

"Hermione thinks we should hold a press conference," Ginny continued. "Give you a chance to give your side of the story. Luna's dad's agreed to publishing an interview as well. And I don't think it will be too hard to get the Prophet speaking well of you either, with Hermione on your side."

"I…" Draco said, the world tilting oddly under his feet.

He sat down on the couch, blinking as he stared across the room. Was this actually his life right now? The Weasleys and Granger, not to mention the Ministry, coming to his defence? Even Luna's nutjob of a father? All of them who hated him, and rightly so? All while he was dating Ginny Weasley? After everything he had done? After all the people he had hurt? It didn't make sense. It wouldn't click in his brain.

Ginny sat down beside him, reaching out and taking hold of his hand. He looked down on it, only increasing his grip when she squeezed.

"Are you alright?" she asked him softly.

He nodded, looking up, his eyes skimming over every freckle on her skin for a second time that day. The little round dots that seemed to cluster and then disperse, then cluster again at random. A thousand little splotches of colour, over and over, tumbling across her, marking her, declaring her as a creature of the sun. Someone who couldn't be kept or cloistered indoors.

Her grip on his hand increased, but she didn't say anything, just sat there with him. And, not for the first time, he realized how much he appreciated that. How much he appreciated her. Loved her—Merlin, that was still so weird to think.

A buzzer went off in the kitchen, and they both jumped. He frowned, but she just smiled reassuringly, getting to her feet.

"I'll be right back," she said, stepping away and slowly letting go of his hand.

He nodded, watching her walk away, but again didn't feel the gumption to move.

After a time, the damned cat hopped up beside him. He looked up at him then purred, rubbing his head against his knee. Draco jerked in surprise, looking down at the creature, who offered him a short meow before again rubbing his face.

"Have you gone crazy as well?" he asked the cat. This time the cat only purred in response.

With a furtive glance towards to kitchen, Draco reached out and touched the damned thing. It was the first time he ever had, he realized, and he was surprised by how soft and warm he was. And how clean he felt. For some reason, he had thought he would feel grimy, and it made him wonder whose cat had put that thought into his head.

Orton continued to purr, standing up straight on his one back leg as Draco ran his hand over and over his back, petting his tail as well before starting over again. It was oddly cathartic: the purring, the softness, having something respond to him in a positive way. Was this why people had cats?

A loud banging startled him back into the present, and he stopped, shaking his hand a bit to get rid of the fur clinging to his hand.

"Not a word," he said firmly as he got to his feet. "Not a damned word."

"Did you say something?" Ginny called.

"Nope," Draco replied, heading into the kitchen.

She glanced over her shoulder from where she stood at the stove as he walked in.

"You're not trying to cook, are you?" he asked, watching as she manoeuvred a ladle around a large pot on the stove. There were two soup bowls sitting on the counter beside her.

"No," she said, sticking her tongue out at him. "Hermione made us some soup while we were talking."

"Is she a decent cook?" Draco asked bluntly, cringing internally afterwards. The woman had just offered to help him, after all.

"Is there anything Hermione isn't good at?" Ginny asked, shaking her head, an odd little smile on her lips. She lifted up the ladle, shaking it a bit to stop it from dripping, but not quite managing it. "Other than flying, that is."

"Granger's not good on a broom?"

"She's miserable at it," Ginny confided in him, grinning as he stepped up to her, waiting for her to give him the ladle. But she kept it, splashing bits of soup everywhere as she went. "There's a pool going over which parent the kids are going to take after in that regard."

He snorted. "Maybe they'll take after their aunt," he said, flipping her braid over her shoulder and turning away. "Tea?"

"Please," she replied, and he went about getting the kettle ready while she began to shuffle the bowls over to the island.

As they both moved about the kitchen, brushing up against each other as they went, he was stunned by how normal it felt to do so. How easily he could get used to having her in his space, or, as things currently stood, being in her space. It would be so easy to just get used to her. To get used to being around her. There was a tightness in his chest as he thought this, and

"Draco, why didn't you tell me about your father?" she asked him suddenly.

He froze, a glass of water in his hand. Well, really, it had only been a matter of time before she found out. He was actually surprised that she hadn't already, though apparently her refusal to engage with the media was much more pervasive than he had given her credit for.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "I guess telling you made it real."

"And you don't want it to be real?"

"Of course not," he snapped over the sound of breaking glass.

"Draco!"

Pain laced his hand, and he looked down at it dumbly. A mixture of blood and water was dripping to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Gin," he said. Suddenly active, he took out his wand and waved it, cleaning up the mess, until only his hand was left.

He glanced up at her, only to find an expression of apprehension and surprise on her face. Shame flooded through him and he ducked his head, waving his wand absently at his hand, distractedly cleaning it and stitching it shut.

"I'm sorry," he said again, staring at his hand. "I just… I don't want to think about it. It gets me out of sorts."

"What are you going to do once he's out?" she asked quietly, suddenly in front of him. He jerked his head up in surprise. She took his hand in hers, gently rubbing her thumb across his raw skin. Her face was pensive now, but he couldn't shake the memory from his mind. He had scared her. He'd scared her. All because of his fucking father. The man wasn't even out of prison yet, and somehow the man was already messing with his life.

"I don't know," Draco said, his voice sounding hollow even to himself. "I wish he was dead."

"It'll be okay," she whispered, as though the words couldn't be spoken too loudly without scaring the possibility away.

He looked at her, knowing his face was completely blank. As blank as he felt, despite the aching in the centre of his chest.

Ginny smiled at him tightly, wrapping her arm around his waist, and pressing the side of her face against his chest. He stared at her for a moment, his heart beating painfully, then wrapped his arms around her, lowering his head until his forehead was pressed against the side of her neck. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath of lavender scented hair, and tried desperately to believe that it really would be. That everything actually could be okay, even though he knew—just knew—that it wouldn't be.

—O—

 **A/N:** Doop doop. Just a bit of angst, and a dash of smut. Next chapter, the art show! And a surprise! Or maybe two…?


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